


My Love Is Vengeance

by Ithiel_Dragon



Series: Blessed Are The Peacemakers [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Arthur Morgan, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Arthur tries to reconcile his past with Mary Linton, while simultaneously navigating his new relationship with John Marston.  All the while, the gang begins to fall apart around them.





	1. Chapter 1

Kieran was dead. 

At some point the damned O’Driscoll’s had snatched the boy and sent him back to them without his head.  That was no way to die. Not for anyone. Arthur didn’t even want to imagine what the bastards might have put the poor boy through before they’d finally killed him.  It might have been far kinder if he’d killed Kieran himself when they’d first found him. At least Arthur would have made it quick and clean.

On top of that mess, the trolly station job had been a set up. That bastard Bronte had betrayed them, and now Dutch was out for blood.  Not that Arthur could really blame him, but they already had enough problems right now without trying to deal out vengeance to the biggest criminal in Saint Denis.  Dutch insisted it was out of necessity, not vengeance, but Arthur wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t so sure about a lot of things lately.

Dutch wanted them to rob the bank in Saint Denis, once they’d dealt with Bronte.  Arthur thought the whole thing was suicide. Sure, a job that big could set them up with all the money they could possibly need. But it was far more likely it would get them all killed. Either shot dead in the attempt, or at the end of a noose when they were inevitably caught by the law that was already breathing too closely down their necks. 

Needless to say with everything going on, Arthur hadn’t had much time to rest.  Much less think about personal matters. He hadn’t seen much of John, either. After the shootout with the O’Driscolls, Dutch had ordered extra guard patrols in an attempt to keep them safer.  Or at least give them more of a warning should Colm send his men back this way. Hopefully they would be long gone before that happened. Until then, John was busy on guard duty or sleeping when he wasn’t, and Arthur himself was too busy to stick around in camp for very long.

A part of Arthur resented the forced separation, no matter how necessary it was.  Sometimes Arthur wondered if it was intentional. Did Dutch know? Or at least suspect, what he and John had been up to?  Arthur quickly dismissed that idea as just being paranoid. Dutch had bigger things to worry about right now than where they stuck their dicks. 

As much as he missed spending time alone with John, another part of him was almost grateful for it.  Arthur was still reeling a little from what John had told him. John’s decision to break things off with Abigail, so he could be with Arthur.  John’s suggestion that they leave the gang after all this was over. It was… a lot to think about.

The gang had been Arthur’s whole damn life for over twenty damned years.  Dutch and Hosea had raised him far better than his own parents had. Though most folks would probably question the morals his adopted ‘parents’ had instilled in Arthur.  Still, there _had_ been one other time when Arthur had considered giving up the life he led.  The life of an outlaw.

Before Mary Gillis had broken his heart… and John Marston shattered it again soon after.

After that whole mess, Arthur had never again considered leaving it all behind.  Almost seemed hypocritical given how much shit he’d given John for leaving. Arthur knew what he was.  A bad man who did bad things, and he was good at what he did. He couldn’t really imagine himself doing anything else, at this point.  Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and all that. But as much as Arthur balked at the idea of leaving the gang… his family… behind, even for John… he couldn’t deny that the younger man had a point on a few things. 

As much as Dutch talked about using the money they earned to buy some land out west where they could put up a farm, or ranch, and live free… When the opportunity _did_ come, Dutch had turned it away.  Now going out west wasn’t good enough apparently, now they were trying to leave the country, become banana pickers in Tahiti, or wherever… Point was, they were still no closer to Dutch’s grand dream today than they’d been twenty years ago when Arthur had first bought into it.  John was probably right. Most likely they would _never_ give up this life.  They lived as outlaws, and they would die as outlaws.  Really, that idea didn’t bother Arthur all that much…

Or, at least it hadn’t.  Before Blackwater, Valentine, and Rhodes.  Before Cornwall, and the Pinkertons. Before Dutch began acting so unlike the man Arthur thought he knew. Before Jenny, Davey, Mac, Sean, and Keiran…  so many of their number had died, and in the end, for what? Things had never been this bad before, and… Arthur just had a bad feeling that they were only going to get worse.  It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t trust Dutch, it was just… The stakes were already so high, and set to get even higher. Arthur wasn’t sure if he could stand to watch any more of their family die. 

All too easily Arthur could recall the vivid fever dreams he’d experienced not so long ago when he’d been held captive by the O'Driscolls.  Nightmares that had felt more like memories of another life than simple dreams. It was all too easy to imagine seeing John’s head explode in a shower of red gore, like Sean’s had.  Or John’s headless body riding in to camp on his own damned horse instead of Kieran. If things kept going the way they were…

So… yeah.  Arthur might not have put too much thought into leaving the gang for his own sake.  But getting John and his family out of this life before it was too late… he’d started to think about that a lot.  If only the stubborn bastard would just leave with his woman and boy…

Arthur still wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  A part of him was angry for Abigail and Jack’s sake, even if it worked out in his benefit.  What kind of man would abandon his wife and son to be with another man? At the same time, John had never pretended he’d ever wanted that kind of life.  In fact, he’d been very vocal against it. It was everyone else who’d been trying to force the younger man into that mould. Hosea, Dutch, Abigail, hell, even Arthur himself. 

At least John was trying to do _something_ right by them.  Making plans to get Abigail and Jack out before things could get worse.  Making sure they had enough money to start a decent life somewhere safe. That was more than many men would do.

But it also meant if Arthur wanted John out of this life, Arthur would have to leave too.  Because John was one _stubborn_ bastard.  Once John had made up his mind about something, _no one_ was going to convince him otherwise.  John wasn’t going leave without him, and as touched as Arthur was by that sentiment, it was also damned frustrating. 

It seemed like Arthur had three choices.  Leave the gang with John after this last job in Saint Denis, and take their chances on their own.  Stick with gang as he had all these years, meaning there would always be the risk of watching John swing at the end of a rope, or worse.  Or break things off with John completely, no matter how much it would hurt them both in the process, and try to force the younger man into a life he never wanted.

No choice was easy.  Yet it was a choice Arthur would have to make.  Soon.

But it wasn’t something Arthur wanted to think about right this second.  He’d been out all night helping some natives steal some papers from the oil company they hoped would help them keep their land, or something.  Arthur thought it was a lost cause, but that wasn’t really his business. He’d only done it for the money. In the end, it was probably more trouble than the pay was worth, but what’s done was done. Now all he wanted was to fall onto his cot and sleep for a couple hours. A moment of rest, that was all he wanted.

Apparently that was too much to ask for though, because as soon as he opened the door to his room he saw the letter waiting for him.  Even from that distance he recognized the elegant scrawl on the front of the clean white envelope.

Sighing heavily, Arthur sat down on the cot and regarded the letter as though it were a snake ready to bite him.  He _really_ didn’t need this right now.  He was already so damned mixed up inside trying to figure out his feelings for John.  He didn’t need his past regrets for a woman he still cared deeply for to add fuel to the fire. 

What the hell could she even want?  She’d certainly made it seem like they wouldn’t be speaking again after he’d seen her and her brother off on that train in Valentine.  A vindictive part of Arthur wanted to fling the unopened letter into a fire without bothering to read it first. Instead he sighed heavily and picked it up.  Doing his best to brace himself for whatever he was about to read. Though as he finished the letter, he began to wish he _had_ simply tossed it into the fire first. 

She wanted his help… again… Of course.  What had he expected? What had he even been hoping for?  He wasn’t even sure anymore…

He was a god damn fool…

Eventually Arthur stood, even though every muscle in his body cried out in protest.  He quickly shaved and washed off the worst of the grime from the road. Then he changed into a relatively clean set of clothes. 

He’d just go see what she wanted.  Saint Denis wasn’t all that far, after all.  After that… well…

Everyone was too busy with their own morning chores to really pay much attention to Arthur as he headed towards the horses.  His stallion was just as displeased to be roused from his well earned rest as Arthur felt about all this. So he took the time to carefully brush the horse and fed him a few extra treats to pacify him. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” Arthur promised, giving the animal an affectionate pat.  The slightly less grumpy nicker he received in return made him smile.

“Arthur!” he heard the call from across the camp just as he was hoisting himself up into the saddle and barely stopped himself from groaning aloud in irritation.  This was the last thing he needed right now…

“Arthur, wait…” John repeated as he trotted up beside his horse, but paused when Arthur leveled an impatient glare at him.

“What, Marston?” he snapped, with more venom than he really intended.  It was enough to make John pause with a troubled frown.

“I just… Where are you going?  Didn’t you just get back?” the younger man asked, his voice tinged in concern, making Arthur feel like a right ass.  It wasn’t John’s fault that Arthur was exhausted and in an extra foul mood because of it. He had no right to be taking out his frustrations on the younger man.  Especially when John looked almost as bad as Arthur himself felt. His skin paler than normal, and with dark circles under his eyes, proving he was just as worn thin by all this mess as Arthur was.

So Arthur bit back his defensive retort and attempted to soften his tone.

“Saint Denis.  I won’t be gone long,” he reassured, even though he really had no way of knowing that for sure. 

“Oh…” John said softly.  Then, to his surprise, John lifted a hand to rest on Arthur’s thigh.  Even though there was no one around, it was definitely a more intimate contact than they usually shared in public, “Did you… want some company?”

Arthur frowned. 

“Told you, I won’t be gone long. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?  You look like shit, and you’ve got guard duty again tonight,” Arthur pointed out, and John looked away, his expression troubled. 

“Yeah… but…” the younger man started, obviously searching for some reason to accompany Arthur now of all times.  The hand on his thigh tightened possessively in the process… and then Arthur knew.

“Who told you,” he snapped, not bothering to hide his anger anymore.  John stiffened, looking even more uncomfortable now if possible, but at least he had the balls to look Arthur in the eye again.

“Karen and Mary-Beth…”

Of course.  Someone had to have gotten the mail and put the letter in his room to begin with.  Of course there’d be gossip. He should have expected it, even if he didn’t much appreciate it.  That didn’t make Arthur any less pissed though.

“So what?  You think I need some kind of chaperone now? Think I can’t keep my dick in my pants?  Even if that was the case, what I do is no business of yours. I don’t owe you shit,” Arthur hissed.  He wished he could say he was pleased by the flash of hurt that crossed John’s face at his words, but in fact, it only made Arthur feel worse.  He knew he should apologize… and he probably would later… but right now he was just too angry and frustrated by everything, “Just cause we’re fucking, don’t make you my god damned wife, Marston.  Maybe you should turn in that rifle and go knit with the women if you think that’s the case.”

John reeled back as though he’d been slapped, but he recovered quickly enough, and his expression hardened. 

“Alright.  Fine. I don’t want you to go, but not for the reasons you're thinking.  She’s only going to hurt you again, and you know it. She’s only using you, Arthur, so she don’t have to get her own hands dirty,” John snapped harshly, “She don’t want _you_.  She never has.”

Arthur saw red and for a split second his hand actually drifted towards his gun.  John noticed it too. His eyes went wide. Terrified. Maybe surprised by Arthur’s reaction.  Maybe surprised at his own words. But it was enough to snap Arthur out of his rage. At least a little.  Enough to be horrified by what he’d almost done.

With a growl Arthur yanked on the reigns hard enough that his stallion protested, but the horse still reacted immediately when he spurred him into a fast gallop away from camp.  He heard John call his name, but he didn't stop or look back. Afraid he’d do something he’d regret… and never forgive himself for... if he did.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re a god damned moron, John Marston,” he told himself bitterly as he stood at the edge of the swamp gazing out over the murky water.  The afternoon sun was hot. The thick tree cover overhead provided little in the way of relief. The stifling humidity had him sweating under his clothes even though all he was doing was standing around… and feeling sorry for himself. 

He should have been asleep.  He’d been on guard duty all night, and he was exhausted.  But after the confrontation with Arthur that morning… there wasn’t a chance in hell John was going to be able to rest.  He’d almost rode out after Arthur right then and there, but thought better of it. It was probably best to let the older man cool off first. Metaphorically speaking.

John still couldn’t believe that Arthur had actually reached for his gun!  What the hell was that about! He didn’t want to believe Arthur would _really_ haveshot him… then again, maybe he would have.  If he was mad enough.  At least John was confident it wouldn’t have been fatal in that case. Still, the whole encounter had shaken John more than a little bit.  So he’d gone to Bill and offered to take over his post for the day. The man had been skeptical of his motives at first, but agreed easily enough in the end. 

John was beginning to regret it as the day went on.  As the heat continued to climb, his mood worsened, and his anger at both Arthur and himself grew.  Part of it was his own fault. John was man enough to admit that. Mary… was a sore subject. For both him and Arthur.

Arthur had loved her… maybe _still_ loved her to this day.  When Mary had broken off their engagement, she had hurt Arthur bad.  The wounds went deeper than mere heartbreak. Arthur already had a staggeringly low opinion of himself, though John could never understand why.  But Mary leaving him had seemed to only confirm to Arthur just how ‘worthless’ he really was.

Which was why John hated himself for what he had said to Arthur.  He’d hit Arthur below the belt, and he knew it. Whether it was true or not… he never should have said what he’d said. Especially _knowing_ how much it would hurt Arthur to hear… Arthur had hurt him too, yes, but… He still should have handled it better. 

Truth was, Arthur had called it right.  John _was_ jealous, as much as he hated to admit it.  It wasn't that he didn't trust Arthur... but John had been jealous of Mary for a _long_ time. Especially when she and Arthur had been together the first time.  Plus, John had never told Arthur _exactly_ what had triggered his decision to leave the gang.  How hearing Arthur whisper Mary’s name after the night they’d spent together had made him feel… even if Arthur had been asleep and completely unaware of it…

It didn't help that Arthur had reacted so badly when John had told him he loved him… Was it any surprise then that John would be so worried upon hearing that Mary was contacting Arthur again? Even if there was little chance of the two of them reconciling and getting back together… It was still a fear that John couldn’t shake. John didn’t think he could bear losing Arthur now after everything…

If Mary had absolutely no intention of rekindling their old relationship, somehow that made it even worse.  Because that meant she was only _using_ Arthur.  Playing with his feelings and…

So that made John an angry, jealous, idiot… definitely not a good combination.

“Fuck…” John muttered darkly, knocking the back of his head against the tree he was leaning on.  The slight pain it caused might have kept him from falling asleep where he stood, but it definitely didn’t make him feel any better.

“I don’t think you want to be doing that.  Wouldn’t want to damage what little brains you _do_ have in your head,” the unexpected voice made John startle.  He stumbled as he abruptly turned around, nearly ending up in the swamp itself.  The soft laughter that followed his gracelessness only rubbed salt into the wound, “You’re not a very good guard, if I snuck up on you that easily, Mr. Marston.”

John sighed, and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Adler?” he asked, shouldering his rifle.  He hadn’t had much interaction with the woman since she’d joined them. She’d been quiet and kept to herself mostly in the early days, which was understandable.  Given that John had been mostly bedridden and feverish from his wounds during that time, it was no surprise they’d never really gotten acquainted. Though he’d seen her talking with Abigail a few times, she’d always seemed pretty uninterested in him.  So he couldn’t help being a little curious why she was seeking him out now.

“Oh, nothing.  Just watching the train wreck,” she replied, sounding amused.  John frowned in confusion and rather than answering right away, she held out a pack of cigarettes to him.  Like some kind of peace offering. He took one, despite still being a little wary of her motives. While she lit a match for him, she elaborated, “You and Arthur?  Trouble in paradise? It’s like watching a disaster happen right in front of you. You might not _want_ to look, but you can’t look away neither.”

John almost choked on his cigarette.

“What? Arthur and I… we…” John stumbled over his words, still coughing a little.  Sadie simply waved away his denials.

“Oh, don’t worry.  Your secret is safe with me.  Not that it’s much of a secret to begin with.  Someone would have to be blind or stupid not to notice how soft that man’s eyes gets when he looks at you.  You’re no better.” she said with a smile that was a little sad but not unkind.

John felt himself go cold.  She… knew. She seemed to be implying that others knew too.  Abigail knew, of course. But John trusted Abigail not to do anything with that knowledge that would harm him or Arthur.  He couldn’t be sure with some others… Some of his apprehension must have shown on his face, because she gave him a curious look.

“I don’t see why you’re so worried.  You’re outlaws, ain’t you? I’d think being hanged for ‘unnatural acts’ would be the least of your worries…” she said, and John winced, looking back towards the camp.

“I ain’t worried about that… it’s just… people can be… funny… about that kind of thing,” John admitted softly.  He didn’t want to say that he didn’t trust the people in his own gang, but… he definitely trusted some more than others. 

“Oh, well, I don’t think you’ve got to worry too much about that.  Most who know, don’t really care… or they’ve placed bets,” Sadie replied, genuine amusement coloring her tone.  John frowned again.

“Bets?” he asked in confusion.

“Uh huh… on how long the two of you are gonna last before one of you fucks it up,” she explained, and then laughed at John’s expression, “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’ve got twenty bucks on you two being in it for the long haul.  So… tell me. Have I just lost twenty bucks?”

“What?  No!” John nearly shouted, then looked around nervously to make sure no one else was paying attention before he continued softer, “No… it’s, not like that… It’s complicated…”

John really didn’t want to go into the details.  Not with a practical stranger. Especially when it was his and Arthur’s business, and no one else’s.  Sadie Adler hummed softly.

“Well, good.  Because Arthur is head over heels for your dumb ugly ass.  So if anyone is going to fuck it up, it’s going to be you. Don’t fuck it up.  I’ve got good money riding on it,” Sadie replied, winked at him, then started making her way back into camp relaxed like they’d been discussing nothing more important than the weather.  John could only watch her go with his mouth hanging open a little in shock.

What in the hell?  Arthur was right. That woman was god damned crazy. 

Still, her words stuck with him nonetheless.  Could it be true? That Arthur really… How could she even be so sure?  She barely knew _either_ of them.  Then again, if someone who barely knew them could see it… 

John wasn’t sure whether to feel hopeful or worried.

 

* * *

 

Seeing Mary again was bitter sweet. 

Seeing her reminded him of a time when he’d actually thought he could be a better man.  Seeing her reminded him of a time when he’d thought he could leave the life of an outlaw behind.  Seeing her reminded him of just what a fool he had always been. While a part of Arthur had pretty much known how this was going to turn out as soon as he’d laid eyes on the letter, some part of him had still… he didn’t even know anymore.

But John had been right, as much as Arthur might hate to admit it. 

The first time she had asked for his help, it had been for her brother’s sake.  It had been disappointing watching the two of get on that train and leave afterwards, sure.  Even with Mary’s words about how he’d never change ringing in his ears, he still hadn’t felt too bad about it.  Jamie had been one of the only people in Mary’s family that had been decent to him back then. He didn’t mind helping that boy. 

But for Mary to ask him to help her _father_.  Knowing exactly how that man had treated Arthur all them years ago… He still couldn’t quite believe she’d had the gall to ask him. He was even more surprised with himself that he’d refused.

It had been… kind of liberating.  In a way. At the same time it had been a crushing reminder that _this_ , apparently, was all Arthur was good for.  Getting his hands dirty… If even Mary, one of the few who’s seen Arthur at his best, couldn’t see him as good for anything else…

John though… John had _always_ seen him for exactly what he was.  John wanted him anyway. John didn’t care whether or not he could change.  John was still in love with him… or, at least he _had_ been.  Arthur definitely wouldn’t blame the younger man if he were seriously reconsidering throwing his lot in with Arthur after how he’d acted that morning. 

He was a god damned fool, is what he was.  Stupid, angry, stubborn…

A part of him had wanted to head back to the camp immediately after his meeting with Mary.  He and John… they probably had a lot to talk about. But given the way he had lost his temper that morning… Arthur thought it best he take some time to work off some of his frustrations and get his head back on straight before he returned. 

So he’d gone to a saloon in one of the seedier parts of Saint Denis.  He drank too much bad liquor and ended up in quite an impressive bar brawl.  When he finally stumbled out, it was well into evening. He was drunk, bruised, and still  a little heartbroken over the whole thing, but he was much calmer at least.

He gave himself until the ride back to stop feeling so damned sorry for himself. 

It looked like he’d just missed dinner by the time he returned to camp.  Javier was playing the guitar by the fire, and Uncle was in the middle of one of his many tall tales. Pearson offered him a portion of the leftover stew, which Arthur gladly accepted. His eyes scanned the faces gathered around the campfire, and when he didn’t see the one he was looking for, he went over to Abigail instead.

“Hi, Abigail.  Have you seen John?” he asked softly.  She turned and offered him a faint smile.  He was still a little surprised how easily she was taking all this.  Him and John… But there seemed to be little in the way of hard feelings on her part.  It was a relief as much as it was unexpected. She really was an amazing woman.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning.  I think he was on guard today,” she informed him.  Arthur frowned at that. He knew John had been on guard duty last night.  What the hell was he doing on guard today too? Even if that was the case, that should have been done with by now. 

Abandoning what remained of his stew, Arthur headed immediately to John’s post at the edge of the swamp.  But when he arrived, he didn’t find John. He found Bill Williamson.

“Where’s John?” Arthur’s question was met with a fierce scowl.

“How the fuck should I know? Bastard said he’d take my post, then disappeared.  Dutch was pissed! Now I’ve got to stand around here all night,” Bill ranted, and Arthur wasn’t in a mood to listen.  So he returned to camp again and began asking around.

“I haven’t seen him since around noon,” Sadie was finally able to tell him, looking concerned, and Arthur cursed softly.  In a last ditch effort, Arthur went to his own room, which really probably should have been one of the first places to look.  Since John had made a habit of waiting for him there these days. But when he opened the door, the room was empty, and just as Arthur had left it that morning.

John was nowhere to be found.  


	3. Chapter 3

“Arthur!  Arthur wake up!”

Arthur groaned at the insistent voice that pulled him unwillingly from his slumber.  He buried his face into his pillow, trying to block out the morning light that seemed intent on making his head explode like a stick of dynamite.  His entire body ached and his mouth tasted like a polecat had died in it. Needless to say, he did _not_ appreciate being woken up.  Especially when he could guess the reason…

“Arthur, please!” Abigail’s voice, high pitched and loud, made Arthur groan again in pain.  Though it came out more like a growl.

“Go away,” he snapped, and immediately hated himself for speaking since it only made him feel worse.  He could feel the blood pounding through his head like a hammer, and he swallowed down the urge to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. 

“Arthur, it’s John…” Abigail went on, completely ignoring his discomfort and warnings.  Of course it was about John. It was always about John _fucking_ Marston.  What the hell else was new? 

“He’s still missing, Arthur.  No one has seen him since mid yesterday…”

That, Arthur knew all too well.  He’d been the one to figure it out after all.  No one else had even seemed to notice the bastard hadn’t been around for most of the day.  What the hell did that say?

There’d been no sign of a struggle where John had been posted guard.  John’s rifle and his horse were both missing, so there was a good chance he’d left on his own.  He wasn’t taken like Kieran had been, or snapped up by a gator, or anything of the sort.

“He wouldn’t have just left!” Abigail went on, but even as hungover as he was, Arthur could hear the lack of conviction in her tone.  They were both thinking the same thing. _It wouldn’t be the first time…_

“Go away…” he repeated, feeling more defeated than angry.  Because he was willing to accept the hard truth even if she wasn’t.  That John Marston had abandoned them both a second time. This time Arthur had no one to blame but himself.  John had reluctantly admitted to him not so long ago that the reason he’d left the first time was because he’d been _afraid_ of Arthur.  Given that Arthur had gone and blown up at him yesterday over practically nothing, even going so far as to almost pull his gun on the man… He couldn’t even be all that mad at Marston for taking off. 

Later on he probably _would_ feel angry. At the very least on Abigail and Jack’s behalf.  John had already chosen to be with him, rather than his family.  Something Arthur was still uncertain how to feel about. But now he’d also broken his promise to at least see they were taken care of before abandoning them.  That, Arthur doubted he’d ever be able to forgive…

Not that Arthur was acting too much better at the moment.  Ignoring the pleas of a crying and desperate woman, and instead wallowing in his own guilt and heartbreak.  He couldn’t even blame her when she finally stormed out of his room, slamming the door hard enough the old wood nearly splintered.  Arthur groaned again as the loud noise did no favors to his already aching head, but decided he deserved that. Deserved that and a whole hell of a lot more.

John was right to leave him…

 

* * *

 

“You’re a horrible man, Arthur Morgan,” Sadie Adler’s voice cracked like a whip as she stalked over to where he sat on a fallen log.  He’d only emerged from his room near noon, and only because he was tired of the constant stream of people invading his privacy to ask him to go looking for John. First Abigail, then Mary-Beth, Hosea, and even Miss Grimshaw who’d given him quite the earful.  He’d finally slipped out of the camp quietly and rode away where he could be alone and feel sorry for himself in peace.

He should have known someone would track him down eventually.  Though he was a little surprised it was Mrs. Adler, and not Dutch himself come to yell at him about getting back to work bringing in money for the gang.  Really, Arthur didn’t have _time_ to be moping around like this, but…

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Arthur replied mildly as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his satchel and lit one.  He coughed as the smoke burned his lungs and cleared his throat loudly before looking up at the woman standing over him with her hands on her hips. 

His stallion snorted and stomped at the ground.  The big mean bastard could stay calm and unfazed while gators swam by in the swamp not a few feet away.  But immediately began to get nervous when confronted with an angry Sadie Adler. Arthur couldn’t say he blamed the horse.

She made a disgusted sound as she looked down on him. 

“So you’re really just going to sit here like a sorry sack of shit?”

“I don’t see why everyone is making such a big deal over this.  It’s not like this hasn’t happened before,” he said. Though it took all of Arthur’s self control to utter those words like they didn’t matter to him one way or another.  When in reality it was all he could do not to choke on them like he’d been swallowing glass.

Sadie stood there, glaring at him, but her tone was slightly less harsh when she spoke again.

“You really think he just ran off on his own… leaving both you and Abigail behind without even a word?” She asked, and Arthur didn’t answer.  He just kept smoking and staring at the ground. _Wouldn’t be the first time_ , he didn’t bother to repeat.  Though he _was_ mildly curious how she knew about him and John in the first place… But he supposed it didn’t really matter now anyway. 

She made another sound of frustration and then knelt down in front of him.  Though Arthur continued to avoid her gaze, mostly out of stubbornness.

“Look Morgan… it’s obvious you and John have a mountain of issues to work through.  I don’t know the history between you two… but I talked with him yesterday. Yeah, he seemed a bit upset by whatever you two argued about, but he sure as hell didn’t seem like he was getting ready to bolt because of it,” She stated firmly. 

Again, Arthur didn’t answer. Because like she already said, she knew nothing about either of them.  He didn’t want to admit that her words were burying a sliver of doubt inside of him.

“Let’s consider this logically,” she went on without waiting for him, “You go searching and find out for certain that he ran off like a coward, hopped on a train, and he ain’t coming back.  Nothing’s changed. You can keep wallowing in self pity for as long as you like. But let’s say you’re wrong. That he _didn’t_ run off, and instead got into some kind of trouble.  Are you really going to be able to live with yourself if you find out that’s the case and you didn’t even _try_ to look for him?”

That made Arthur lift his head with a scowl, and Sadie smirked at him, knowing that she had won.  She stood up and dusted off her knees.

“Still, if you’d rather just sit here and rot… I can go looking for him on my own.  I’ll let you know what I find out…” she said, already walking back towards her horse. 

Arthur cursed, his mind unwittingly providing him examples of all the things that could happen to a lone woman… or man… wandering the swamps.  The bayou country was some of the roughest the gang had resided in yet, and the multitude of gators inhabiting the marsh wasn’t the most dangerous things living there. 

Just last night Arthur had seen some poor bastard hanging from a tree by a rope around his neck, left there like some kind of grisly message to passers by.  If he hadn’t been so damned drunk at the time, he might have at least cut the bastard down, but instead he’d rode on without stopping. It wasn't his problem, and someone else was bound to come across the body eventually.  Then there was the creepy bastard he’d encountered last week who’d tried to entice Arthur into a rundown shack with with the offer of food, but with obvious ill intent. Sadie was probably too smart to fall for anything of the sort, but that didn’t mean Arthur wanted her roaming around out there on her own.  The idea she had planted in his head of John wandering around alone out there… maybe not being so smart, and getting into some kind of trouble… didn’t sit too well with him either. Arthur cursed under his breath and tossed away his cigarette as he stood abruptly.

“Alright, fine,” he snapped, earning him another rather smug look from Mrs. Adler which he ignored as he moved to get on his horse. 

“So, where should we start?” she asked, sounding far too enthusiastic for his liking.  It reminded him of the disastrous first trip he’d taken with her into Rhodes. Where all they’d gone was for supplies and ended up in a damned shoot out. 

Arthur sighed in resignation.

“Saint Denis,” he replied with confidence.  It was the only place worth going for miles.  Either for supplies, or for the train station if John had really gone that route.  Or… if John _had_ in fact gone looking for Arthur yesterday… It should be easy enough to ask around for John.  The scars on his face would make him memorable if anyone had actually seen him.

Sadie hummed in agreement and joined him on the road that would take them towards the city.  Unfortunately the silence didn’t last for long.

“So, what’s really going on between you and John?  If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, and Arthur threw a frown her way before turning back to the road.

“I _do_ mind.  It’s none of your damned business,” he growled.  She seemed far from fazed by his attitude, however.  Given the company she’d been keeping these last couple months, he was hardly surprised by this.

“Oh please, the way you both have been carrying on, it’s everyone’s business at this point.  Besides, you’re both so damned hopeless, you need all the help you can get,” she responded, then went on when he refused to speak, “Let me guess.  You was arguing over something stupid. Usually the case when men are involved.”

There was a note of disgust mingled with fondness in her tone.  It was an odd combination, though surprisingly not one that was new to him.  Miss Grimshaw often had that attitude when dealing with the lot of them. Couldn’t say he blamed them.  Stupid men indeed.

While he wasn’t exactly pleased by her assessment of the situation, he couldn’t exactly deny it either.  He and John definitely hadn’t been as discrete as they probably should have been. Never mind the very public argument they’d gotten into, the walls of Shady Belle weren’t all _that_ thick and they certainly hadn’t been all that quiet whenever they were together. While he was certainly bothered that Sadie… and apparently many others… knew all about him and John, he couldn’t say he was all that surprised.

He had never outright tried to hide how he was from the gang.  He just… didn’t bring it up. Like he’d told John, Hosea and Dutch definitely knew… it just hadn’t been talked about for years.  He assumed not many in the gang knew he swung that way, given the lack of reaction he’d noticed from the gang… but maybe he didn’t need to be as worried as he originally thought. 

“Who knows?” he asked, rather than answering her question.  The look she gave him told him she knew what he was doing, but she allowed it for the moment.

“Myself, and Abigail, of course.  Karen, Mary-Beth, Susan, Tilly…”

So most of the women… great.  Not that he was surprised. All the damned gossip that went on between them...

“Hosea, Charles, Lenny, and Uncle.  Pretty sure Kieran and Sean knew too before…” her voice trailed off and Arthur’s throat grew tight at the mention of both names.  But he was still surprised so many apparently… and for so long. No one had said a word. Not to him at least. While there hadn’t been much _to_ say before the gang had moved to Shady Belle. He and John hadn’t _actually_ been together for years… Had some really suspected something going on between him and John before that?  For how long?

“Why didn’t they say anything?” he asked, more to himself than the woman riding beside him.  She was silent for so long he figured she hadn't even heard him speak. He figured wrong.

“Probably because you’re one grumpy and intimidating bastard most of the time,” she said, like he was stupid for even asking, “No one is going to call you a nancy boy to your face.  Not unless they’re a suicidal moron.”

She paused and Arthur figured that was the end of it.  Seemed a reasonable enough explanation. People were afraid of him… he couldn't blame them.  She was right, he was a god damned miserable asshole most of the time. Even John was afraid of him…  Why should he be surprised anyone else was?

“Also…” Sadie went on, much to Arthur’s surprise, “Because everyone knows this gang would fall apart without you.  You’re always so damn busy looking after everyone. Putting their needs before yourself. They might not always show it, but they’re grateful and respect that… they don’t care where you stick your cock.”

Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what to say to the matter of fact words, or the sentiment behind them. 

“I ain’t a good man…” he said faintly. 

“Maybe not… but you’re not all bad either.  Hell, sometimes I’d even say you’re downright heroic.”

Arthur had to snort at that.

“I ain’t no hero.”

“Tell that to Abigail.  She hasn’t had a single bad word to say about you since you helped save her son.  Even though you _did_ steal her husband,” Sadie’s rather blunt way of putting it made Arthur wince slightly, even though he couldn’t exactly deny it.  No matter how many times he’d told John to go back to his family… if he'd _really_ wanted to end things with John he could have.  But he didn't. 

“Hey, don’t get all sour faced now.  I’m not here to judge. Especially since Abigail herself don’t even seem all that upset over it.  If it were me, though, I’d probably have cut John’s balls off. You tell him that,” Sadie’s words shocked a laugh out of Arthur. 

“I’ll do that, Mrs. Adler,” Arthur replied, a little shocked to find himself smiling in spite of everything.  It was a little shocking how easily the woman had managed to pull him out of his mood. Almost making him forget about why they were out here in the first place, looking for John. 

“If you love him, you should tell him that too…” Sadie added almost too soft for Arthur to hear with a far off look in her eyes, “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that, and he didn’t have the chance.  Because their discussion was interrupted by the sudden scream of a terrified horse that made them both jump.  Arthur didn’t hesitate digging his spurs into his stallion’s side, steering them off the path towards the noise.  Something about it made his blood run cold…

It wasn’t far.  The horse was tangled in some brush by it’s reigns and in a panic due to a small gator advancing on it.  Arthur didn’t hesitate drawing his gun and shooting the gator in the head. He'd jumped off his horse and was already doing his best to calm the poor animal by the time Sadie had caught up with him. 

“Shit… that’s John’s horse, isn’t it?” she asked. 

Arthur didn’t answer, because he couldn’t.  The sight of the blood covering the saddle had stolen all the air out of his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's surprisingly difficult looking up in period slang for homosexual...


	4. Chapter 4

Well, Sadie was right about one thing.  Arthur was never going to forgive himself for this.  He just wished she had been wrong about everything else.  As much as he hated the idea of John running off and abandoning the gang, Abigail and Jack… him… he’d take that over the alternative.  That John might be…

No. 

He refused to believe that.  Not until he saw a fucking body… and maybe not even then.  Sure, the amount of blood on the saddle was substantial, but it wasn’t enough to kill a man.  There was still a chance… however slim...

“Arthur!” Sadie’s sharp voice drew him out of his contemplation and he slowly turned his head to look at her.  There was no small amount of concern in her expression, and he had a feeling she had been trying to get his attention for a while now. 

 _‘Pull yourself together, damn it,’_ Arthur ordered himself angrily.  For John’s sake, if nothing else. 

“What are we going to do, Arthur?” she asked.  Probably not the first time. He wished he had an answer.  He ran his fingers over the large stain of blood, but only a few dried flecks came off the leather.

“This happened hours ago,” he said, and then glanced around.  There was no sign of a struggle or any more blood, when there should have been.  If nothing else, John Marston wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, “Whatever happened, it didn’t happen here.  The horse probably just got spooked and ran this way.”

He didn’t add that whatever had happened, it must have been pretty bad to spook Old Boy.  John’s horse wasn’t one to scare easily. Arthur quickly checked the saddle bags. There wasn’t much in them, but the fact that he found a small money clip was telling, and it made his heart sink even further.

“This weren’t a robbery,” he said, showing Sadie the cash.  If whoever had attacked John hadn’t been after money… That narrowed the possibilities.  Bounty Hunters? Pinkertons? O’Driscolls? Whoever it was, if they were more intent on John than whatever he was carrying… that definitely didn’t bode well.  If it were Bounty Hunters or Pinkertons there was a better chance that John might still be alive. O’Driscolls…

Arthur remembered Kieran’s headless body riding into camp and shuddered. 

“What do we do?” she repeated.  Some of her worry slipping through in her tone despite the tough facade she put up.  He wondered if Sadie had also been hoping that John had merely run off. That they’d find him getting ready to board a train and simply need to beat some sense into him. 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He’d be no use to John if he was panicking and jumping to conclusions.

“I’m going to head back to the road.  See if I can figure out where this happened.  Look for clues…” he said, and handed off Old Boy’s reins to her.  She was already frowning before he got to the next bit, “I need you to head back to camp-”

“Like hell I will!” she snapped, and Arthur sighed heavily.  He really didn’t have time to argue about this.

“Listen.  The trail is going to be _cold_ and I ain’t the best tracker.  I need you to find Charles, Javier, hell, bring anyone who’s willing to come out and look.  I’d go but…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as his throat tightened with emotion. Guilt practically choking him.  He’d already wasted so much fucking time. If John were dead because Arthur had been busy sitting on his ass feeling sorry for himself, “Please…”

Sadie’s expression softened and she nodded in understanding.

“Alright… just… be careful.  Don’t do anything stupid until we get back,” she said, and Arthur nodded in agreement.  Even though they both knew that was a promise he probably couldn’t keep. Still she took Old Boy and spurred her horse into a quick gallop heading back towards Shady Belle.  Arthur mounted his own horse and turned the stallion back towards the road. When he reached the path he kept his eyes open for any clues that might tell him what had happened to John last night. 

He didn’t need to go far, and his stomach dropped even further when he realized exactly where he was.  He looked up at the tree branch which still bore a length of rope tied around it, even though the body had been cut down and taken away at some point.  In the light of day, he noticed what he hadn't last night.  The rough patches of dirt that had been kicked up by a horse, and a bloody patch on the ground near the trees.

Had John come this way and saw the hanging corpse just as Arthur had?  Had John stopped to investigate, and someone had used the opportunity to attack him?  If Arthur hadn’t been so damned drunk last night and not paying attention, would he have noticed something was wrong then?  Would he have realized something had happened to John and gone after him while the trail was still fresh?  When there was a better chance he’d find John alive instead of as a corpse…

Arthur swallowed down the bile in his throat as he dismounted and pulled his rifle from the saddle.  He made his way into the trees, following the trail as best he could. The fact that there were still traces of blood on the ground despite the damp environment having destroyed most of the trail was far from comforting.  Every step he took he feared he would look up to find John’s body dangling from a branch, just like the one he’d ignored last night.

But it wasn’t John who Arthur found as he pushed his way past a thick growth of underbrush and vines.  At the edge of the bog stood a man, dressed in a fancy black suit and a tall top hat. While Arthur himself was covered in muck from his boots to his waist, the well dressed man was completely spotless, like the dirt didn’t dare touch him.  He looked so damned out of place Arthur had to stop and blink to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

The man didn’t turn to look at Arthur, despite all the noise he’d made stomping through the swamp flora.  He simply stared out into the fetid waters, his hands folded primly behind him. Looking as relaxed as though he were taking a Sunday walk, despite the gators swimming close by.  Arthur frowned, and his grip tightened on his rifle.

“Hey.  You there,” Arthur said, trying to gain the man’s attention.  As unlikely as was, maybe the stranger knew something about what had happened to John, “You live around here?  Seen anything odd happen in these parts?”

“Odd?” the man’s voice was soft and calm.  Yet something about it sent a shiver rolling down Arthur’s spine, “A great deal happens in this world that most would consider odd, my friend.  I’m afraid you are going to have to be a little more specific.”

The man finally turned to look at Arthur, and while he was clearly unarmed and non-threatening, it was all Arthur could do not to take a step back when those dark piercing eyes finally focused their attention on him.  He seemed… familiar somehow. Arthur couldn’t say why. But something about the man’s eyes gave him an eerie feeling. Like someone walking over his grave.

“I’m looking for someone… a friend of mine went missing last night.  Dark hair, scars on his face. I think something bad happened to him.  Did you happen to see anything?” Arthur asked as politely as possible despite the odd feeling the whole encounter was giving him.  But he was willing to put up with any amount of oddness if it might lead him to John.

The stranger hummed thoughtfully before answering.

“Ah, yes.  I’m afraid your friend was waylaid by a group that many in this area have come to calling ‘Night Folk’.  They have been the demise of many unwary travelers lost in the dark swamps. He was still alive when they took him.  Whether or not he still is…”

Arthur’s heart beat a furious rhythm against his ribs in response to the stranger’s words.  He could barely keep the panic out of his voice when he asked, “Where did they take him? Which way?”

The strange man hummed again, turning his attention away from Arthur back to the swamp.

“It is a curious thing, isn’t it?” the man asked cryptically.  Arthur frowned, and it was all he could do not to shout at the man, demanding an end to the god damn small talk.  Arthur had no fucking idea who these ‘Night Folk’ were, but clearly they were not to be taken lightly. He didn’t have time to banter with weird strangers in the swamp when John could be dying… or already dead…

“Mister, please… I’m begging you…” Arthur tried, but the strange man ignored him.  Or at least seemed to.

“What a man will do for love… Lie… cheat… steal… kill… for love.  Love can bring out the best in men… and the worst. I wonder… what price are _you_ willing to pay?” the man asked, addressing Arthur even though he didn’t look at him.  Was he talking about John? How the hell could he be? How could he know? Arthur had no idea what kind of game the man was playing but…

“Anything,” he answered without much thought. 

“Yes, I thought as much…” the man said softly.  He sounded… disappointed. Then he turned around to face Arthur again. 

“To find your friend, you’ll want to keep heading north west from here.  You should reach your destination by sundown… if you hurry…” the man said, walking past Arthur heading back towards the main road.  Arthur looked in the direction the man had indicated. Nothing but deep bogs as far as he could see. He wasn’t going to be able to ride there, that was for damned sure… if he trusted the man’s word that John was in that direction.  But what choice did he really have?

“Thank you,” Arthur offered.

“Of course.  Anything for a friend… Arthur Morgan,” the man replied. 

Arthur spun around in surprise, but the man was gone.  Not even a footprint left in the mud to prove he’d been there at all. 

“What the fuck…” Arthur whispered, wondering if he’d actually imagined the entire strange encounter.  Then he looked back out over the swamp. The last thing he wanted was to waste time chasing ghosts… But what choice did he have?  Another quick glance around didn’t give him any new information on where John might have disappeared to. The trail pretty much ended here, as far as he could see.  Maybe Charles would have better luck… But did he dare wait that long?

Arthur cursed under his breath and wadded out into the swamp.  The lukewarm putrid water immediately came up to over his waist as he squelched through god knows what. He made a disgusted face, but he continued on anyway.

Sadie and the others should find his horse by the road, so he wasn’t worried about leaving the animal behind.  Either they would pick up on his trail and follow… or they’d pick up John’s and reach the younger man first while Arthur was on this wild goose chase.  But as odd as it sounded… Arthur didn’t think he was going in the wrong direction. It was just… a feeling he had.

He was proven right barely an hour later when he came across the first… sign post.  The body had been rotting in the sun for several days at least. Tied to the trunk of a large tree, missing it’s arms and legs, it was a grizzly but pretty obvious message to stay away.  Arthur continued on, picking up his pace as he trekked through the deep muck.

He came across a few more bodies along the way.  Some in even worse states. Each one made his chest clench in fear.  Afraid the next one he would find would be John… but at least it meant he was going in the right direction… to something.  Maybe not to John… and Arthur was really beginning to hope the strange man had simply sent Arthur this way to his own death, and he _wouldn’t_ find John with whoever these Night Folk bastards were…

As promised, the sun had just begun to slip down into the horizon when Arthur reached his destination.  Through the golden haze of the setting sun he barely made out what seemed to be a very primitive looking settlement.  A large bonfire was burning in its center despite the sweltering heat of the day. But as far as he could see, there was no sign of any inhabitants. 

Arthur pulled himself onto dryer land, and crouched down behind a fallen tree.  He pulled out his binoculars.  At least the fact that he was covered in muck from head to toe made for good camouflage as he peered around the settlement.  There were more bodies… a lot more. A lot more _pieces_ of bodies too…  a stack of what appeared to be arms and legs near the fire and the torso of a man appeared to be… roasting… over the flames. 

Arthur felt bile crawling up into his throat but he swallowed it down.  His heart beat so loud in his ears it was nearly deafening.

Please… please please please… John…

Arthur’s breath hitched when he finally spotted a man tied to a tree.  He was bare from the waist up. His exposed flesh covered in bruises and long vicious cuts along his back. The long dark hair prevented Arthur from seeing his face clearly but… It was John. It _had_ to be.  He couldn’t tell if the man was alive or not… but at least he seemed to still be in one piece.

He cast one more look over the settlement. Still saw no sign of movement beyond the crackling flames of the bonfire.  Dusk was falling quickly, and he had no idea when these Night Folk might return to finish the job they’d started on John.  Arthur wasn’t going to sit around and wait. Not when John was _right there_.  When he had no idea how badly the younger man might be hurt… he needed to get John out of there.  Now.

Arthur put away the binoculars and took out his knife and revolver.  He crept into the settlement as silently as he knew how. He kept his eyes open and alert for any sign of movement, but his gaze never strayed very long away from John.  Every step he took his heart clenched. John was… a mess. Even in the growing darkness Arthur could see it. He still hadn’t moved an inch…

Just let him be alive… they’d deal with anything else… as long as John was alive…

He made it to John’s side without incident and reached out to press his shaking fingers to the younger man’s throat.  Searching for a pulse. Arthur wasn't prepared for the man to suddenly jerk away from his touch with a hiss of pain. It startled Arthur enough that he almost dropped his knife, but he recovered quickly.  He ran his fingers through John’s filthy hair, offering what comfort he could. John was pale and shivering despite the summer heat and the huge bonfire nearby.

“Easy… easy now… I’m here.  I’m gonna get you out of here,” he whispered, and immediately went to work cutting through the thick ropes binding John to the tree.  John’s face was bruised, covered in blood, and he seemed to have trouble focusing on Arthur.

“Arthur?” he whispered in disbelief and hearing how his voice trembled Arthur hadn’t been so near to tears in a long time.  This was his fault. He should have gone looking for John sooner, his pride be damned. If he’d gotten to John any later… what the hell could he have found? 

“It’s me.  You’re going to be okay…” Arthur reassured, hoping that was true.  He managed to cut through one of the ropes, freeing one of John’s bloodied wrists.  But the injured man didn’t react with relief. Instead he looked terrified.

“Arthur… Arthur!  You have to get out of here… these… people… they’re not normal… you have to…” John babbled, and Arthur simply ignored him.  There was no way in _hell_ he was going anywhere without John.

“Just give me a minute.  Almost done,” Arthur reassured instead. 

“No… Arthur please… Arthur!” John’s frantic pleas abruptly increased in volume from a whisper to a near shout, and Arthur realized almost too late that the man was actually trying to _warn_ him.  Arthur spun, lifted his gun, and pulled the trigger without any real thought.  Blowing a hole through the man who’d nearly snuck up on him from behind without making a single sound. 

The man fell down dead… but he wasn’t alone.  More men and women began to emerge from the dark trees.  Their faces painted a ghostly white, they looked more dead than alive, and they were completely silent as they advanced on him and John brandishing knives.  Five… ten… fifteen… too many… they were surrounded.


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur quickly pressed his knife into John’s freed hand, hoping that the man was alert enough that he wouldn’t simply drop it.

“Cut yourself free,” he ordered, before turning his attention back to men and women quickly advancing on them.  He only managed to shoot a few rounds from his revolver before the mob was too close for the gun to be of any more use.  At least he’d made the shots count. Though the eeriest thing about it was the men didn’t even scream as they went down. When even the most stoic person would have trouble keeping quiet when they had a bullet in them. 

Arthur knew that from personal experience. 

But he didn’t have too much time to think about it, given the situation.  He swung the rifle off his back, and used it as a blunt weapon to knock their attackers back.  Only firing when he could get a worthwhile shot. He didn’t exactly have the time to reload. Despite his best efforts he felt the bite of several knives along his arms.  One good slash on his torso, and a blade even sunk into his thigh as he kicked one of their attackers away.

He heard John grunt and his body hit the ground as the younger man finally managed to free himself from the ropes.  Arthur didn’t hesitate reaching down to grab him by the arm and haul John away from the tree. He couldn't even spare the younger man a glance as he backed them up against the bonfire.  The dangerous heat so intense it practically scorched his lungs with every breath the took. But there was no real avenue for escape.  John was in no condition to run, and Arthur couldn't carry him.  The fire would prevent anyone from sneaking up on their rear for the moment... but he wasn’t going to be able to hold out for much longer.  Simply because they had sheer numbers on their side. 

He knew it.  They knew it.  John knew it… so Arthur couldn’t say he was all that surprised when he heard John’s plea from behind him. 

“Arthur please!  For god's sake… Just get out of here…”

Arthur grit his teeth when he felt another line of fire open up along his ribs as a man lunged for him.  He used the butt of his rifle to bash open his head before firing his last round through the throat of a woman who tried to finish the job.  As much as he wanted to yell at John right then and there, he couldn’t spare the breath. But once they got out of this… if they got out of this… he was definitely going to have a few words with Marston.  That he’d _think_ even for a _second_ that Arthur would run and leave him behind…

Never.  Not in a million years.  Even if John begged him to… Arthur had always known he would die for the greasy fool if need be… Because he loved John… no matter how much he’d tried to deny it, he couldn’t lie to himself.  There wasn’t a damned thing he wouldn’t do for John Marston and dying wasn’t even the worst thing…

But apparently it wouldn’t be today after all, much to Arthur’s surprise. 

Too busy trying to stay alive, the first crack of a gunshot didn’t even register to Arthur.  The roar of the fire behind him and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears was nearly deafening. But more shots quickly followed and realizing they were now at a severe disadvantage, the Night Folk began to scatter.  Quickly disappearing back into the dark swamp surrounding them just as silently as they’d appeared.

Before he knew it, Arthur’s knees hit the ground.  Relief barely registered through his exhaustion when he saw Sadie and Charles riding up.  He tried not to feel disappointed that it was _only_ Sadie and Charles. Just glad for the rescue itself. 

“What the _hell_ were those things!” Sadie shouted as she quickly dismounted and rushed over to them.  Charles muttered something that sounded like ‘evil spirits’ as his eyes trained on the dark woods, keeping watch should the Night Folk return.  Arthur wasn’t so sure about spirits… they certainly seemed solid and bled easily enough. But there also seemed to be far less bodies on the ground than he thought there should be.  A shiver ran through him as Sadie knelt down beside him, her eyes wide with concern, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Arthur managed, though his lungs continued to heave.  His chest burning something fierce as he continued to gasp for air, “John… check on John…”

He wanted to do it himself, but he wasn’t sure he could.  He could barely move.  He felt as wobbly as a newborn colt… The cuts along his body burned like fire and his limbs felt like lead.  His head felt ready to explode and his stomach clenched like he was going to be sick.

“Arthur… Arthur can you hear me?” a worried voice asked.  He couldn’t tell who it was. It sounded like it was coming from far away… He thought he heard the word ‘poison’ spoken frantically, before the world tipped to the side and everything went dark. 

 

* * *

 

When he woke, it was morning… or early afternoon… Arthur couldn’t be sure.  His memories of the dark swamp were still fresh in his mind however. Nightmares chasing him into the waking world, and he sat up abruptly with a shout of alarm.  However he didn’t get very far before a pair of hands caught him by the shoulders and pressed him back down to the bed he was laying in… far too easily for Arthur’s liking. 

“Woah!  Easy there, cowboy.  You’re going to undo all the doctor’s work.  We paid good money for it.”

Arthur groaned in response, and worked to blink away the haze from his vision. 

“Mrs. Adler…” he croaked out, his voice catching in his throat like jagged glass, “Where…”

“Saint Denis.  It was closer than Shady Belle, and both of you needed doctoring pretty bad when we found you.  What did I tell you about going and doing something stupid?” Sadie’s voice was scolding, but also filled with relief.  Her words, rather than comfort him however, made him fight to sit up again.

“John!  Is he...” he demanded desperately.

“Christ, you’re more stubborn than a mule!  He’s okay, Arthur… well… he’s alive anyway. Those bastards really did a number on him and he was pretty shaken up.  Doctor had to knock him out with some drugs before stitching him up… he’s still sleeping it off,” Sadie explained. Trying to be as comforting as possible.  She squeezed his shoulder gently, “If you sit still and relax a minute, I’ll get you some clothes and take you to see him.”

The fight left Arthur abruptly at those words, and he sagged back against the covers as relief washed over him.  It left him feeling utterly drained.

“Yes… thank you, Mrs. Adler…” he managed tiredly.  She offered him a faint smile and patted his arm.

“I’ve seen you bleeding and bare assed, Arthur Morgan.  I think we can drop the formality at this point,” she joked, rearranging the covers over his lap to prove her point.  Arthur hadn’t even noticed his lack of clothing… and couldn’t really find the energy to be embarrassed about it. He simply nodded in agreement, and she patted his arm again before getting up and slipping out of the room. 

While she was gone he took the time to take stock of his condition.  He felt like hell, no doubt about it. Weak and shaky. His stomach felt like it was trying to crawl up his throat, and his head felt ready to explode.  He had a few bandages wrapped around his torso and arms, one around his upper thigh, but the wounds underneath didn’t feel too bad. Arthur picked at the edge of one of the bandages on his arm and winced slightly at the intense redness of the skin along the edge of the cut.  Sadie returned with an armful of clothes and clucked at him in admonishment.

“Turns out those knives those bastards used were coated in some kind of poison.  Not uncommon in these parts apparently, so the doctor had an antidote. He said it was meant more to paralyze than kill…” Sadie explained, though her words weren’t all that comforting.  If Sadie and Charles hadn’t shown up when they had, how much longer could he have kept fighting? What exactly would those freaks have done with him and John then? He didn’t even want to think about it.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered after Sadie helped him sit up on the edge of the bed.  Not only meaning her help getting him dressed when he could barely seem to move his own limbs.  But… everything.

“Course… least I could do.  After everything you’ve done for me…” she replied genuinely. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he denied with a slight shake of his head.  Wincing a little as she helped him stand to pull up his trousers. Later on he might be more embarrassed about needing the assistance, feeling as weak as a kitten, but right now he’d take any aid if it meant seeing John sooner. 

“Well, I guess you owe me one then,” she said.  Arthur was forced to lean much of his weight on her as she helped him out of the small room.  Proving once again that Sadie Adler was anything but delicate. From the looks of things they were still at the doctors, and the patient’s quarters were thankfully not that far apart.  Since Arthur didn’t know how far he was going to be able to walk, even with assistance.

Charles looked up from where he sat by John’s bed, but rose from his chair as soon as he saw Arthur in the doorway.  Arthur on the other hand, barely spared Charles a glance and nod before his attention turned fully towards the man in the bed.  At that point Arthur’s breath caught in his throat and he stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to the younger man’s side.

John was laying on his front, with the crisp white hospital sheets pooled around his hips.  Almost the entirety of his back was covered with thick bandages, already dotted with blood, despite looking recently changed.  He was nearly as pale as the sheets he was laying on. His face swollen and bruised, with deep dark circles under his eyes. Without the slow rise and fall of his chest, he would have looked like a corpse.  The man was out cold, and didn’t stir a bit when Arthur gently brushed his hair back from his battered face. 

“Jesus…” Arthur whispered.  His knees nearly giving out, but thankfully Charles and Sadie helped ease him into the chair before he could end up on the floor instead. 

“He’ll be alright.  He’s a fighter. He was more worried about you, before we got here,” Charles said softly, giving Arthur’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.  Arthur closed his eyes and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to John’s forehead, not giving a damn about their audience. Too relieved to see John alive, and mostly in one piece. 

It had come so close… too damned close… never again.

“Thank you.  Both of you,” Arthur whispered, taking one of John’s limp hands in his own and holding it tightly.  Charles squeezed his shoulder again, and Sadie said something about giving them some privacy.  But Arthur wasn’t really listening. His attention focused completely on the unconscious man in the bed. 

As soon as John woke up… they were going to talk.  It was past damned time. 


	6. Chapter 6

The doctor hadn’t been too pleased to find that Arthur was up and about.  He was even less so when Arthur refused to leave John’s side and return to his own bed.  Sadie was forced to step in when the doctor tried to force the issue. Thankfully before Arthur could really lose his temper, and she managed to persuade the man that it was in his best interest to just let him be if he knew what was good for him.  The doctor wisely hadn’t tried to make Arthur to leave after that. But he also didn’t appreciate the way Arthur constantly glared at him every time the man came into the room to tend to John.

It wasn’t that Arthur was ungrateful.  He was… he’d just never really liked doctors.  And maybe he was feeling a little… overprotective right now.  But who could really blame him, given what had happened?

The first time he’d seen the wounds on John’s back, uncovered and in the light of day, he felt like he was going to be sick.  The doctor had paused in his work to take one look at Arthur and was quick to reassure him that it looked far worse than it was. Arthur was a little doubtful of that, considering that John looked like he’d been _flayed like a side of beef._  But he hoped it was true.  He hoped the man he loved wouldn’t be in unimaginable pain when he finally woke from his drug induced sleep. Hoped John wouldn’t end up crippled, considering how deeply some of the wounds seemed to cut into his muscles.  Hoping was all he could do right now...

And he hated it.  Hated feeling so helpless… so useless…

He kept telling himself, he was just thankful that John was alive at all.  But those thoughts didn’t offer him as much comfort as he would have liked, the longer John remained comatose in the hospital bed.  Just how much fucking pain killers had the doctor given to John to knock him out? Enough to kill a horse?

The doctor kept reassuring him that John should wake up any time now… though those reassurances were less meaningful as the day stretched on, well into the evening, and John still hadn’t stirred.  The doctor came less frequently now… probably to avoid Arthur’s snarling. Sadie had departed a couple hours ago, intending to get some much needed rest at a nearby hotel. Charles had left even before that to return to Shady Belle, to let everyone know that John had been found. 

Abigail was probably worried sick… but Arthur couldn’t muster much guilt that he hadn’t even _thought_ of sending word back to camp until Charles himself had mentioned it.  At least he managed to pull his attention away from Marston long enough to offer the man a genuine expression of gratitude before he departed. 

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in the chair, feeling exhausted beyond measure but unwilling to give up his vigil until John opened his eyes.  He ran his fingers through his own greasy hair even as he tried to stifle a yawn. Though someone had obviously taken the time to clean him up somewhat from his jaunt into the swamp, Arthur still felt filthy.  He probably still had swamp muck in places he didn’t even want to think about.

“Fuck… what I wouldn’t give for a bath,” Arthur muttered, brushing his thumb back and forth across John’s scarred knuckles.  He’d talked to John on and off through the day, partly for his own sanity, and partly hoping the sound of his voice would comfort the younger man, even while asleep. 

“A nice hot bath… in a tub big enough for the both of us, as long as I’m making wishes,” he continued, smiling slightly to himself, “Where I can take my time washing and kissing every inch of you.  Then once I’ve got you good and clean, we’ll get a room with a nice soft bed… the nicest the hotel has… and I’ll make a mess of you all over again. The staff are going to start complaining about all the hot water and bed sheets we’re gonna go through before I’m done with you…”

Arthur chuckled softly.

He really hoped he had a chance to make that fantasy a reality. 

“That sounds nice…”

Arthur was so lost in his own thoughts he barely heard the soft whisper.  At first thought he’d imagined it. He froze and stared at John as the younger man’s eyes slowly fluttered open. 

“John…” Arthur breathed, all his breath leaving him at once as his chest constricted.  Relief making him feel a little light headed. He squeezed John’s hand tightly, and received a gentle squeeze back.

“Hey…” said John, his voice more rough than Arthur had ever heard it.  Weak and tight with pain.

“Hey… how are you feeling?” Arthur asked, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to say.  Even though he had been thinking about it _all day_ , he was feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. 

“Not too good…” John replied in that same painfully weak voice.  Arthur brushed John’s long hair gently out of his face and lightly massaged his fingers into the back of the younger man’s neck.  Not really sure where else to touch him that wouldn’t cause John more pain. But needing that contact all the same. 

“Do you want me to get the doctor?” Arthur offered.  The man would probably be pissed if Arthur woke him now in the middle of the night, especially given all the hassle he’d given the doctor though the day.  John shook his head weakly, and his hand tightened around Arthur’s.

“No… just… stay…” John breathed, his voice almost panicked.  Arthur scooted closer and pressed his forehead to the younger man’s.  Close enough that they were practically breathing the same air.

“I ain’t going nowhere, John…” Arthur promised, and they stayed just like that for a long while.  Arthur gently running his fingers through John’s hair, and pressing soft kisses to his forehead, eyebrow, cheeks… John’s entire face.  John slowly relaxed. His muscles unwinding and his breath steadying. Arthur fully expected John to drift back off to sleep at any minute.  So he was a little surprised when John spoke again, though his voice was so faint Arthur probably wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t so close already. 

“Thought I was gonna die… they…” John breathed, and a shiver shook through them both.  Arthur squeezed John’s hand tight enough that it was probably a little painful, but John didn’t complain. 

“All I could think about… was the last thing I said to you… I’m sorry, Arthur… I didn’t mean it, I swear…” John continued, his voice breaking.  Arthur’s breath left him in a rush as he realized what John was referring to. The stupid argument they’d gotten into… hell, was it really only a day or two ago?  He’d nearly forgotten about it.

“It don’t matter,” Arthur whispered, cupping John’s cheek and pressing a tender kiss to his hairline.  Meant to comfort, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“It _does_ matter!  You… you were right… I was jealous… stupid… but… after everything.  The thought I might… lose you… I just…” John babbled on, until finally Arthur pressed his lips to the younger man’s to silence him.  He kissed John once, hard to quiet him. Then softer, sweeter.

“You’re a goddamn fool, John Marston,” Arthur breathed against his lips, though his tone was nothing but affectionate. 

“I know…” John replied, still sounding miserable, but a little more calm at least.  Arthur kissed him again. Slow. Letting his tongue dip ever so slightly beyond his lips to taste inside.  Coaxing a faint moan from the younger man.

“You were right too, you know,” Arthur said when he drew away enough to allow them both to breathe.  He continued pressing more soft kisses against John’s cheek and temple. He didn’t think he could make himself stop even if he wanted to, “Mary… she never wanted me.  Not really…”

“Arthur…”

“Just shut up a minute, okay?” Arthur ordered, but there was no ire in his words.  When John’s mouth closed, he kissed him again. Just because he could. He never intended to stop, “I’m not saying she never loved me… I think she did… at least she loved what she thought I could be.  But… even when I tried to be that man… it weren’t enough for her…”

It was difficult to admit that, but… it was true.  John remained silent, so Arthur continued.

“She wanted me to help her again… to help her _father_.  Of all things… You’ve no idea how terrible that man was to me back then, John.  How it felt that she would even ask...”

“Christ…” John breathed, “I’m sorry, Arthur…”

“I told her no,” Arthur admitted, and John didn’t reply.  After a moment, Arthur chuckled softly, “I know, it kinda surprised me too at the time.  But she understood why... I just couldn’t do that, even for her… I just couldn’t...”

Arthur sighed softly, and slowly drew back enough so that he could look John in the eyes as he continued.

“But there’s something you should know, John Marston.  There ain’t nothing… _nothing…_ I wouldn’t do for you.  I’d walk through hellfire for you if you asked.  Even if you didn’t ask, I still would…”

“Arthur…”

“I mean it… and once all this is over.  If you really want to get out… we’ll go. Just the two of us… If that’s what you want.  We’ll go out west. Buy some land. Become farmers… or pig keepers… or whatever the fuck you want…”

John laughed softly, though it sounded strained, almost more of a sob. 

“Arthur… I…” Arthur heard the hesitation in the younger man’s voice and kissed him again with infinite gentleness.  He pressed his forehead against the younger man’s.

“It’s okay… you can say it…” he coaxed. 

“I love you…” John whispered into what little space there was between them.  Arthur closed that distance, cradling the younger man close.

“I love you too…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that was a little short, but it seemed like a good place to stop.


	7. Chapter 7

This… definitely wasn’t the way John ever expected he’d go out.  That was for damned sure. He’d always figured it would be a bullet (probably a few of them) that would finally put him down six feet under.  Or the noose. He never expected he’d die tied to a damned tree, covered in his own blood, waiting for these… people… things… to do god knows what to him. 

John shivered despite the sweltering heat of the summer air, only made worse by the bonfire at his back.  He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness all day long. Ever since the night before… god was it only last night... when he came across the body hanging from the tree by the road.  Like an idiot he’d stopped to investigate. Intending to at least cut the poor bastard down. He hadn’t even considered it would be a trap.

They’d… they’d come out of nowhere.  Didn’t make a goddamn sound. The first sign John had that something was wrong, was when he’d already been stabbed in the thigh. He’d yelled, kicked at his attacker even as blood poured from his leg like a fountain.  He reached for his gun, but more hands pulled him down off his panicking horse before he could fire a single shot. A quick blow to the back of the head had knocked him out before he even fully comprehended what was happening.

Now… he wondered if he’d woken in hell.  Literal hell. He felt like he was being burned alive.  Surrounded by almost literal demons. They’d stripped him down.  Tied him up. Carved… into him. The knives red hot, cauterizing the wounds even as they sliced into him.  Probably so he wouldn’t bleed out right away. He’d screamed… even when he tried not to… he couldn’t help it.  He begged… to know what they wanted… what they were going to do to him… They never answered. The smell of burning flesh choked him.  His own… others… he… he saw them. Dead bodies. So many. Roasting… eating them… The bile that rose from his stomach nearly choked him.

Please… not that… anything but that.

Then… then Arthur was there… at first he’d thought the man was just a delirious figment of his imagination… Until one of his bloodied wrists was cut free.  John began to panic. Tried to warn Arthur… because he didn’t know… he had no idea what he was dealing with… They came… of course they did… silent as ghosts… Arthur didn’t see them.  John screamed. Arthur turned. A knife was pressed into his hand. John had no idea how he managed not to drop it from his numb fumbling fingers. Arthur was fighting. John had never been so terrified in his whole life.  Expecting any moment to see Arthur cut down and torn apart right in front of his eyes. John finally managed to cut himself free. He fell, unable to stand on weak legs. Arthur grabbed and dragged him closer to the flames.  Every trembling breath he took scorched his lungs. He begged… begged Arthur to just run. They weren’t going to make it out of this… and he couldn’t bear to watch… he’d rather throw himself in the fire than watch…

They rushed at them.  Brandishing their bloody knives.  Inhuman faces, twisted and demonic, snarling in rage. 

Arthur!

 

* * *

 

John woke with a harsh gasp that was immediately followed by a low hiss of pain as his body reminded him why moving wasn’t a good idea right now. 

It was morning.  Sunlight filtered into the room through the dirty window.  He could hear the sounds of the city outside. Horses. People.  Just going about their day as normal. He was laying in a bed, in a patient room, at a small hospital.  As he had been for the last several days.

He was alive.  A little worse for wear… but alive.

John’s fingers tightened around the warm hand held in his own.  It had been there from the first moment he’d opened his eyes. That, more than anything, allowed his racing heart to finally slow to a more normal rhythm.  Proof he was alive, against all odds. That Arthur...

Arthur…

John sighed heavily as he looked at the other man sleeping upright in the chair beside his bed.  Arthur’s hat was tipped down low over his features, his chin nearly resting on his chest, with his other hand curled over his belly.  It didn’t look all that comfortable, to be honest, but John didn’t have the heart to try to wake him. Considering how exhausted Arthur looked.  Even when he was actually resting.

Arthur had barely left his side for more than a few minutes at a time.  Ever since they’d talked that first night, well into morning. While the words that passed softly between them hadn’t always pleasant… they were necessary.  They’d talked until pain and exhaustion finally pulled John back under despite his best efforts to keep his eyes open. It was only Arthur’s promises that he’d still be there when he woke that quelled his anxieties enough that he finally allowed himself to fall back into a deep slumber.  Even as he drifted off, he still felt Arthur clutching his hand tightly. As though he feared John would disappear in a puff of smoke if he let go.

The feeling was mutual, so John wasn’t about to complain. 

The last few days… weeks… months… Christ.  All that had happened in such a small amount of time.  It was enough to leave his head spinning. They’d certainly had plenty to get off their chests.  While John wanted to believe it would all be better now… at least between him and Arthur… he’d never been _that_ naive.  Even as a child he knew life wasn’t a fairy tale. 

The main problem between him and Arthur boiled down to lack of trust.  There had been a time when he and Arthur had trusted each other completely… at least in all the ways that really mattered.  But that trust had been severely damaged. A lot of that was John’s own fault. He was man enough to admit that. Even though Arthur had finally forgiven him for what he’d done all them years ago, that hurt and broken trust couldn’t be healed overnight.  No matter how much they might both want it to be true.

That was never made more clear to John than when Arthur had brokenly admitted that he hadn’t gone looking for John right away because he’d believed John had just... left… like before.  That he might have not gone looking for John _at all_ if Sadie Adler hadn’t pushed him to do so.  Hearing that had… hurt. No doubt about it. Though hearing the guilt and self loathing that dripped from Arthur’s words was almost worse than his own hurt feelings. 

The worst part was, he couldn’t tell Arthur it was all right.  Because it wasn’t. Just because he understood Arthur’s reasoning, it didn’t make it all right.  No matter what he said, it wouldn’t alleviate Arthur’s feelings of blame. Just as nothing would erase John’s hurt, and doubts that Arthur was only telling him what he thought he wanted to hear _now_ out of guilt and fear. 

John had known Arthur for a long time.  Most of his life. He knew Arthur had always been more prone to do what _other_ people expected of him, than what he _really_ wanted.  In the past that usually meant doing whatever Dutch asked, no matter how outlandish.  Honestly, John hadn’t been much better… but he was starting to see things differently now. 

But Dutch wasn’t the only one who took advantage of Arthur’s loyalty like that.  Arthur was always putting the gang’s needs far above his own, in almost every situation.  He couldn’t shake the feeling that Arthur was only talking about leaving with John _now_ because he was scared and it was what he thought _John wanted_ .  Not what Arthur himself wanted. 

Even though John hated himself a little for those thoughts, it was hard to forget how Arthur had fought so damn hard to deny there was anything between them at all.  How angry he’d gotten when John had told him he loved him. When Arthur had told him that what he did was _no business of John’s_ … that Arthur owed him _nothing_ … Back and forth.  Allowing John close to only push him away again.  The sudden shifts in Arthur’s attitude were… jarring to say the least.  John hated to admit that as much as he wanted to believe Arthur when he said he loved him, he was also expecting the next moment when Arthur would change his mind, and push him away yet again.

Trust… or lack thereof.  It wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight.  Certainly not with only one discussion, no matter how heartfelt.  Trust had to be fought for. It had to be earned. It would take time.  John was more than willing to put in that effort. He wanted to believe Arthur felt the same way… and at least that was a start.  They were both stubborn assholes who didn’t know how to communicate like normal people to save their lives. But hopefully in the future it wouldn’t take both of them nearly dying just to have a god damned conversation like adults. 

John sighed again, still feeling tired even after just waking up.

Never mind their own problems.  The way things were going in the gang.  Dutch’s increasingly dangerous schemes. The pinkertons.  The O’Driscolls. Cornwall... Just how much longer would they be able to keep this up before something gave?  Sooner or later their luck was going to run out… in John’s opinion their luck had left them ever since Blackwater.  It was only a matter of time before it all caught up with them… John dreaded that moment. Because John knew if any one of them was going to pay the price when things fell apart, it was going to be Arthur.  Because that man didn’t know how to give up. He’d keep fighting, tooth and nail, to protect them all until it killed him… and John couldn’t bear to see that happen.

It was crushing to think just how fractured their group had become.  The gang had been like a family to John. It was the same for Arthur.  It wasn’t easy to let go of that… even when things had been so bad, for so long, John was beginning to wonder if he’d only imagined the days when they’d been good. 

Dutch had been a man that John had looked up to for so long.  He’d really believed all of Dutch’s talk about _living_ rather than just surviving.  Living _free_.  There had been a time when they actually tried to help less fortunate folk they met, instead of simply taking advantage of them. When they’d still left something akin to hope in their wake, instead of a trail of blood and death…

When the hell had they lost their way so completely?  Why had he never seen it until now?

The only one who’d never seemed to waver in their desire to do good was Arthur.  John saw it every day.  From the way Arthur always helped out with the camp chores, no matter how exhausted he was from doing whatever errand Dutch had sent him on that day.  To how Arthur would offer help to just about every stranger he met on the road if they needed it, asking nothing in return. Arthur really was too good for the life they led… even though the man didn’t even see it in himself. 

They needed to get out.  That was never more clear to see than now.  John lamented that he and Arthur couldn’t just pick up and leave right away.  Just get on their horses and ride as far and fast as they could. Head back out west where they’d always felt more at home.  South into Mexico, or even north into Canada. Anywhere but here, where pain and death seemed to be snapping at their heels constantly like rabid wolves. 

But John couldn’t leave without at least seeing that Abigail and Jack made it out safe first.  He _had_ to do right by them, for once in his miserable life.  He’d never forgive himself… and neither would Arthur… if he didn’t.  John also knew Arthur wouldn’t want to go without at least _trying_ to make sure that _everyone_ also made it to safely first.  That was just who Arthur was, and John wouldn’t dare ask him to do anything different.  Right now, he was afraid Arthur _would_ , even if it went against everything he believed in.  John loved Arthur too much to do that to him.

It was a mess… a goddamn mess…

This was why he hated having too much time to think.  He wasn’t good at making plans. Thinking about the future.  Figuring out what to do… He could see all the problems, but he couldn’t figure out any solutions.  So all he did was tie himself in knots. For all the time they’d talked, Arthur didn’t seem to have any answers either. 

It was… frustrating.  To say the least. John wanted to believe that as long as they stuck together everything would work out in the end, but…

Life wasn’t a fairy tale…

 

* * *

 

Arthur helped John into his shirt, acutely aware of every flash of pain that crossed the younger man’s face with every move he made.  He didn’t bother to ask if he were alright as worked doing up the buttons while John simply sat on the edge of the bed passively. It was obvious that John was _far_ from alright.  In more ways than one. 

John probably shouldn’t be sitting up right now, or putting on clothes, or getting ready to walk out the door, even though he’d already spent five days in bed.  Arthur wished they could take more time to let John heal up properly before they headed back… but that was impossible.

Sadie and Charles had brought them news from the gang every couple of days… and it wasn’t good.  Apparently Dutch was livid at having to put his plans on hold, waiting for John and Arthur to return.  Despite the fact that he’d been informed of what had happened… John’s injured state… They were probably lucky that Dutch hadn’t already shown up in Saint Denis personally, attempting to drag John literally from his hospital bed, or Arthur away from it.  Neither would have ended well. Dutch was probably well aware of that, which was why he hadn’t done it… yet. Though Arthur knew if they stayed away for too much longer, things were going to turn ugly… well, uglier than they already were.

Arthur wasn’t willing to push things that far… not yet…

So they’d go back.  Arthur would do whatever Dutch wanted.  Hopefully John would have more time to rest and heal.  They’d deal with Bronte. Hit the bank, even though Arthur was still convinced it was a bad idea.  They’d get the money they needed and then… then…

They’d figure things out.  Somehow.

Arthur knelt on the floor and carefully pulled on John’s boots.  John’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder for support, but when Arthur glanced up at the younger man, he could tell John wasn’t really ‘there’.  John’s gaze was far off, staring somewhere over his shoulder not quite looking at Arthur, lost in his own thoughts. It seemed to be happening a lot lately, and it worried Arthur a bit.  

He hated seeing John like this.  So listless and melancholy. 

He reached up to squeeze the younger man’s knee gently, and John finally turned his attention to him fully.  Arthur offered him a faint smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes.

“You ready?” he asked, and John sighed before nodding.

“As I’ll ever be,” John replied, sounding more resigned than anything.  Arthur could practically see the troubled thoughts lurking just behind John's dark eyes, and wished there was something he could say… or do... to lift those shadows away.  Even if only for a little while.

Instead he helped John stand.  Taking most of John’s weight as the younger man threw one arm around Arthur’s shoulders, and he led him slowly out of the small room. 

“Remember.  You should bring him back in two weeks time, so I can remove the stitches and make sure everything is healing properly,” the doctor repeated for practically the hundredth time as they passed him in the corridor.  The man had heavily advised against either of them leaving the hospital so soon, but didn’t argue too much, knowing it would be futile.

“Sure, doc.  Thanks,” Arthur replied, despite knowing full well they’d do no such thing.  Miss Grimshaw could look after John perfectly fine, and Swanson could remove the stitches well enough provided he wasn’t drunk. While Arthur certainly appreciated the man's aid, they could take care of their own just fine.

Sadie was waiting for them outside with Arthur’s horse.  John’s had been left back at camp, since Arthur was pretty sure John wouldn’t be able to ride on his own yet.  She offered them a small smile when they emerged into the street.

“Hey boys.  Good to see you up and around again, John,” she offered.  John huffed a soft laugh that held little actual amusement.

“More or less,” he said, his voice tight with pain.  She gave him a sympathetic look before turning to Arthur.

“You sure you don’t need any help?” she asked.

“We’ll be fine.  Thank you, Sadie,” he replied, and she tipped her hat at them before getting on her own horse and riding away.  Arthur helped the younger man over to the stallion that waited patiently for them at the hitching post.  He winced in sympathy with every pained sound the younger man made trying to get into the saddle. 

“You all right?” Arthur asked, even though he knew it was a dumb question.  John snorted softly.

“No,” he answered.  Well, at least he was being honest. 

As soon as Arthur got on the horse, John’s arms wound around his middle, holding on for support.  His fingers clutched at Arthur’s coat so tightly his knuckles were practically bloodless. Arthur covered one of John’s fists with his spare hand. 

“Just lean against me, sweetheart,” he ordered softly as he spurred the horse into a slow walk down the cobbled street.  For once, John did as he was told without complaint. Leaning his weight against Arthur’s back and pressing his forehead into his shoulder.  Arthur didn’t really give a damn how it looked to anyone who saw them. He threaded their fingers together and squeezed John’s hand gently.

It was a few moments before he heard John chuckle softly behind him. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked, as though the endearment had only just registered to him.  He sounded amused at least.  Arthur cleared his throat.

“Got a problem with that?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious.  John hummed softly and was silent for several more moments before he felt the younger man shake his head.

“No… just weird, is all.  More used to you calling me a fucking idiot…”

“You _are_ a fucking idiot.  But you’re my idiot,” Arthur replied, though it wasn’t without affection.  John laughed again, then grunted in discomfort. Arthur squeezed John’s hand again comfortingly.  At least they weren’t going far…


	8. Chapter 8

John did his best to prepare himself for an uncomfortable ride. 

He’d known it was going to hurt.  He wasn’t that dumb. Hell, just laying still in bed had felt bad enough, after he’d refused to take any more drugs that the doctor had offered for the pain.  He didn’t like the way they knocked him out and made his head all funny. They also seemed to make his frequent nightmares more intense, and harder to wake from… He’d deal with a little extra pain if it meant not being trapped in his head back with the Night Folk, or the wolves on the mountain, or whatever other Hells his mind decided to conjure up.  Course now, he almost wished he’d taken the doc up on his offer to dope him up before they left.

Fuck…

John pressed his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder and closed his eyes.  He breathed slowly through his nose. Swallowed against the nausea that threatened to make him empty what little was in his stomach.  He felt dizzy. His skin felt clammy under his clothes. He couldn’t control the weak tremors that racked his body no matter how hard he tried, even knowing that Arthur could probably feel them. 

Christ… He hadn’t even been on the horse for five minutes.  No matter how careful Arthur was being, guiding the horse down the street at a slow pace, every little movement still hurt like hell. He didn’t know how he was going to make it all the way back to Shady Belle like this…

The horse came to an abrupt stop.  He felt Arthur shift in the saddle like he was about to get off.  John tightened his arms around him.

“It’s all right.  We can keep going.  I’m fine…” he lied. Arthur paused, and squeezed his hand.

“We don’t need to.  We’re here,” Arthur answered, and John frowned, wondering if he’d lost his mind… or if Arthur had.  They'd been riding for no more than a few minutes. They hadn’t left the damn _city_ yet.  John lifted his head and opened his eyes, just to make sure he wasn’t going completely crazy.  Sure enough, they were still in Saint Denis, stopped in front of what looked like a pretty fancy saloon. 

“What the hell, Arthur?” John asked, still unable to put the pieces together.  Arthur used his surprise to his advantage to carefully pry John’s arms away and got off the horse.  Then he held out his arms for John.

“Come on.  We’re staying here for the day.  We’ll head back tomorrow,” Arthur said, as though it was the most reasonable thing in the world.  John could only stare down at the man with wide eyes.

“You _can’t_ be serious,” John whispered, still unable to fully comprehend what Arthur was doing. 

“Course I’m serious.  Now get off that horse before you fall off,” Arthur demanded. 

“Arthur, we can’t!  Dutch is going to be pissed!” John argued, even as he took Arthur’s hands because the man was right.  He was already swaying dangerously on the horse. Arthur helped guide him down with as little jostling as possible. 

“Dutch is already pissed.  One more night ain’t gonna matter much,” Arthur responded, looping one of John’s arms around his shoulders for support, and then grabbing his saddle bags off the horse.  On the way inside the saloon he tossed a nickel to the boy waiting to stable his horse. The boy ran off and Arthur led John inside.

Being so early in the day the saloon wasn’t too busy yet.  Arthur walked right up to the bar and the bartender greeted them immediately. 

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Yeah, got a room reserved under the name Morgan.  Can you have a bath sent up, and a bottle of whiskey?  The good stuff,” Arthur said and tossed several dollars down on the bar.  John could only watch with wide eyes as the bartender scooped up the cash immediately.

“Of course, sir.  Your room is ready for you.  A girl will show you up,” the bartender said, “Would you like any food brought up as well, sir?”

“Maybe later.  Just the bath and booze for now,” Arthur replied.

“Of course, sir.  If you need anything else just let us know,”  the man said, and went on to serve another customer.  A woman approached soon after and smiled at them pleasantly.

“This way gentlemen,” she said, and then started up the stairs.  Arthur followed, helping John along.

“You _planned_ this?” John whispered in disbelief.  Arthur merely grinned at him.

“Well, I did promise you a bath… among other things…” he whispered back suggestively, and John felt color rising to his cheeks in spite of himself. 

“Arthur… this ain’t a good idea…” John said softly.  Not that he didn’t appreciate the gesture. But problems with Dutch aside, John really didn’t think he was feeling up for anything… like Arthur was alluding to. 

“Come on.  It’s a _great_ idea.  When did you turn into such an old woman?” Arthur replied, obviously trying to lighten the mood.  Though when John continued to frown, the smile slipped off the other man’s face. His tone took on a more serious note, “John… trust me, okay?”

John gave a resigned sigh.

“Alright…” he knew he didn’t sound all that convincing.  Arthur squeezed his shoulder.

“You _really_ want to go back now?” Arthur asked, and at that moment John knew all he had to do was say the word, and they’d go.  Arthur would do whatever John wanted. John sighed again and shook his head.

“No… not really…” he admitted.  Not only because he wasn’t sure he could even get back on a horse right now the way he was feeling.  Arthur smiled faintly and gave him another one armed hug.

“Alright.  Just do me a favor and _try_ to enjoy yourself?  It’s only one more night…” Arthur reassured, and John nodded.  The girl they were following opened a door, and John’s jaw dropped open when he got a good look at the room they’d be staying in.  It was… way more extravagant than what they were used to. Arthur must have spent quite a bit of money on it.

John felt the urge to protest again, but it died in his throat when his eyes fell on the very large, very comfortable, looking bed.  He saw Arthur grin at his reaction from the corner of his eye, and the older man handed a few more bills to the girl before she left them alone.  Probably to ensure that the normal questions raised regarding two grown men sharing a room with a single large bed, wouldn’t be. 

Arthur helped him over to the bed, and John all but fell down on it.  He buried his face into the incredibly soft linens with an almost obscene groan.

“We’re stealing these sheets,” John muttered into a down filled pillow, and Arthur laughed loudly.  A soft kiss was pressed to the back of his head, and then Arthur went about tugging off John’s boots to help get him more comfortable.  Or maybe it was just so he wouldn’t get the bed dirty. Either way, he didn’t much care. John wasn’t moving again. Ever. He said as much to Arthur, and the man chuckled again as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to John.  Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, tucking it behind John’s ear so he could see his face.

“So, you think this was a good idea now?” he asked cheekily.  John hummed softly in the back of his throat.

“Maybe the best you’ve ever had,” he replied. 

“Oh really?  I'll have to work on that then,” Arthur said softly, moving John’s hair to the side, to expose the back of his neck.  John practically purred as Arthur leaned down to nuzzle at the warm skin behind his ear, pressing gentle kisses along his neck until he reached the collar of John’s shirt.  Not to be deterred by a bit of cloth, Arthur reached underneath John’s body and began to slowly undo the buttons. John started to push himself up to make it easier, but Arthur pressed him down with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Relax, I can handle this,” Arthur murmured just behind John’s ear.  The warm hand trapped underneath the younger man’s body caressed John’s chest as it worked without haste to undress him.  When the material had finally been parted all the way down, Arthur carefully maneuvered John’s arms one at a time to slide the shirt off completely.  John shifted to pillow his head on his arms once they were free and Arthur pressed a final kiss to his bare shoulder once his task was complete.

“Good.  Just stay like that for a bit,” Arthur ordered and got up from the bed.  John wasn’t about to complain, though his eyes curiously followed the other man as Arthur moved to where he’d dropped his saddle bags.  Arthur dug around in them for a few moments before apparently finding what he was looking for. An unassuming jar that John didn’t recognize. 

“What’s that?” he asked, when Arthur returned to sit on the side of the bed. 

“Just something Hosea whipped up.  Bound to be loads better than the crap that doc had on hand,” Arthur explained as he unscrewed the lid.  Knowing Hosea and his skill working with herbs, Arthur was probably right.  Whatever was in the jar was thick, white, and sticky looking. But at least it didn’t smell unpleasant. Arthur carefully began removing the bandages from John’s back, apologizing softly every time he hissed in pain, no matter if it weren’t his fault.  When he was done, he picked up the jar again and coated his fingers liberally.

The first touch of the salve on his back made John tense and hiss sharply.  He couldn't help it.  Mostly because it was _cold_ and his skin around the wounds was practically feverish to the touch.  It warmed quickly however as Arthur spread it around and a blessed numbness soon followed.  John’s breath left him in a rush.

“Better?” Arthur asked, hopeful.

“Yeah… Christ… Hosea is a miracle worker…” John breathed, his body relaxing even further into the bed covers.  Arthur chuckled softly and continued to work. It didn’t take long, and within a matter of minutes the constant fiery pain in his back was reduced to no more than a dull throbbing ache.  John closed his eyes to stop himself from weeping in relief.

He heard Arthur moving around a bit.  Heard him replace the lid on the jar and wipe the excess salve off his hands with a towel.  Before too long, Arthur’s hands returned to gently run through his hair again, carefully working out the tangles from the long strands.  John melted into the touch with a soft moan.

“You wanna just rest a bit?  I can ask them to bring up the tub later…” Arthur offered after a time, his fingers still petting through John’s hair slowly.  The offer was damn tempting. John knew he could probably fall asleep right now and not wake again until well in the evening. But that was exactly what John didn’t want right now.  Not after Arthur had gone through all this trouble. Besides, he rather liked this. Arthur pampering him like this. It didn’t happen often… hell, maybe it had _never_ happened quite like this.  John couldn’t deny he was really curious what else Arthur might have planned.

“Nah… I’m okay…” John replied, turning his head and offering the older man a reassuring smile.  Arthur returned it, and leaned down to brush a warm kiss against John’s shoulder. John sighed into the pleasant touch, and his eyelids fluttered as Arthur’s mouth began working a mark into the sensitive skin where his neck met his shoulder.  Sucking and biting softly. The ticklish scrape of Arthur’s stubble against his skin made John moan and shift where he laid. His dick also began to take interest in what was going on, now that he wasn’t in so much pain. Arthur’s hand moved to rest against John’s lower back, just above the waistband of his jeans, and pressed down.  Holding John still. It really didn’t help matters much, and John groaned again. Arthur chuckled against his skin.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Arthur whispered, his fingers dipping underneath John’s jeans just enough to palm the curve of his ass. 

“You’re a damned tease…” John complained, even though it really wasn’t much of one.  He was loving every minute of this, and Arthur knew it. So he continued to gently squeeze his ass and mouth at John’s skin, licking away the taste of salt from his skin as sweat began to break out over his body. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted their activities, and John made a more genuine sound of complaint as Arthur pulled away. 

“Hold that thought, sweetheart,” Arthur reassured and his eyes raked over John’s sprawled form with no small amount of hunger.  John bit back a soft groan that tried to escape as he watched the other man adjust himself in his trousers before getting up to answer the door. 

When Arthur opened the door, two burly men entered carrying a large claw-foot tub between them.  They set it down in the middle of the room, not even sparing John a glance on the way in or out.  As though they’d seen this, and probably more, each and every day. Soon after they left, several women entered carrying buckets of steaming hot water which they poured into the tub.  It took them several trips, but soon enough the tub was full and they left again without a word. Arthur shut the door and locked it behind them.

Arthur then turned to him with a grin.

“Ready for that bath I promised you?” he asked, and John nodded eagerly.

“Hell yes,” he replied, and Arthur returned to the bed to help him sit up.  His back twinged uncomfortably at the movement, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before.  He was able to walk the short distance from the bed to the tub without much effort. Once there, Arthur unbuttoned John’s jeans and slid them down his legs. 

John used Arthur’s shoulder for support as he carefully stepped out of them at the older man’s urging.  Then Arthur’s hands slid up his legs, thighs, and finally settled on his waist as he got back to his feet to stand in front of John.  John took the opportunity to loop his arms around Arthur’s broad shoulders and lean in to kiss him. Arthur parted his lips eagerly, allowing John’s questing tongue inside without resistance.  Arthur's big hands shifted to John’s ass, giving the mounds a firm squeeze and pulling their bodies together firmly. John whimpered softly at the contact. He was already half hard…

But Arthur drew away again before he could really begin to enjoy the friction between them.

“Arthur, come on…” John begged, and Arthur hushed him with a smile. 

“Bath first.  Then I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.  I promise,” he reassured, reaching up to brush his thumb over the bow of John’s lips. 

John sighed regretfully, but allowed Arthur to help him climb into the tub and get himself settled without putting too much pressure on his back.  As the warm water enveloped him, John let out a near obscene moan. His muscles going lax as he leaned his head back against the rim.  He watched Arthur through half lowered eyelids, and John's lips pulled into a pout as the other man rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, rather than simply taking it off.

“You’re not getting in?”

“Not enough room, I’m afraid.  Besides, probably not a good idea considering the mess you made last time,” Arthur teased, and John barely resisted the urge to splash water at him.  Instead he watched as Arthur knelt down beside the tub and picked up a bar of nice smelling soap and a clean hand towel that had been left for them, “Don’t worry. I’ll still make it good.”

John frowned slightly at those words, even as a soft sigh of pleasure left his lips as Arthur began to carefully run the soapy towel over his shoulders and down his chest. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” John whispered, and Arthur lifted his eyes from his task to look at him with something akin to surprise. 

“I know.  I want to,” he replied, sounding genuine, “That okay?”

John swallowed down a lump of emotion that welled in his throat.

“Yeah…”

So Arthur went back to work cleaning him gently and thoroughly.  Down his chest and along his arms. Over his thighs and legs all the way to his feet.  Arthur didn’t touch his back, for obvious reasons, though he did take care to wash over, and between, the cheeks of his ass, much to John’s pleasure.  While Arthur didn’t linger nearly as long at his groin as John would have liked, it was enough to leave him fully hard and aching all the same. 

“Arthur, please…” John breathed. 

Arthur cupped the side of his neck and leaned in kiss John’s trembling lips.  John reached up to tangle in Arthur’s hair, holding tight and refusing to allow the older man to draw too far away again.  Arthur chuckled softly against his mouth, nipping playfully at John’s lip in retaliation.

John spread his legs in invitation, and finally Arthur abandoned the pretense of washing him to reach between his legs and take hold of his cock.  The warm water had some kind of scented oil in it that smelled really nice, and made everything delightfully slick. Making it easy for Arthur to stroke him slowly.  Sliding his hand up and down his length, just a little too lightly for John’s liking. John’s hips lifted, and groaned softly in frustration. Arthur responded by teasing under his crown and pulling back his foreskin.  He shuddered as Arthur’s thumb gently probed the weeping slit.

“Fuck… Arthur…” John gasped, his head falling back, exposing his throat, which Arthur immediately took advantage off.  Pressing his lips against his racing pulse and licking a burning trail over John’s neck. John swallowed hard as he felt Arthur’s hand slip lower, cupping and gently squeezing his balls briefly before reaching underneath him. 

He let out a shuddering gasp when Arthur’s finger circled around his rim before carefully easing inside.  John trembled, gripping the sides of the tub tightly for support, as he spread his legs wider.  Arthur didn't hesitate letting his finger push all the way past the tight ring of muscle to curl deep inside John.  Rubbing against the tight bundle of nerves in a way that made John’s stomach muscles clench in pleasure. John’s cock twitched without even being touched. 

“How are you doing?” Arthur asked, lifting his head to watch John’s face intently for any signs of discomfort. 

“I’m good… so good… Arthur more, please…” John replied, licking his lips and moaning wantonly as Arthur slipped a second finger inside of him easily.  Continuing to tease that place inside of him that made his breath catch and his toes curl with every press of Arthur’s callused fingers.

John let out a low, almost growl, when Arthur eased a third finger inside of him.  Fucking John deep with his fingers.

“Arthur… fuck… I’m going to cum…” John whimpered, his thighs trembling, and his hole clenching around the fingers inside him. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart.  I’ve got you…” Arthur encouraged, his voice rough with lust and his eyes practically burning as he watched John come undone.  John gave a choked cry, his body arching, as Arthur’s fingers pressed deep and insistently against the most sensitive place inside him.  Cum shot from his twitching cock without even being touched.  John gasped loudly, his muscles twitching with aftershocks of pleasure with every movement Arthur’s fingers continued to make inside him. Drawing out his orgasm to an almost painful degree before John finally begged him to stop. 

Arthur allowed his fingers to slip free from his body, leaving John to sag practically boneless in the warm water.  He pressed a gentle kiss to John’s forehead as his hand gently caressed the quivering muscles of his thighs and stomach.  His touch now more soothing than arousing, thank god.

Arthur chuckled softly.

“Still alive, darlin?” the older man asked.

“I dunno yet…” John replied, still panting a little. 

“Well, you let me know when you figure it out,” Arthur responded with another warm laugh before pressing his lips to John’s once more.  


	9. Chapter 9

The night had gone just about perfect in Arthur’s opinion.    


He took great pleasure helping John finish his bath.  Even going so far as to thoroughly wash the younger man’s hair for him, since John never did a decent job himself.  He said as much to the younger man, and despite the glare John threw him at his teasing, he practically purred in pleasure under the treatment.  By the time Arthur was done there was another knock on the door. He got up to answer it, and returned to John’s side with the bottle of whiskey he’d ordered and two glasses.    


“This just keeps getting better,” John quipped with a grin.    


Arthur opened the bottle and they managed to share a good portion of the expensive liquor until the water in the tub cooled down too much to be comfortable.  Arthur helped John out of the tub, dried him off carefully, and led him back to the bed. The younger man’s unsteadiness was thankfully more due to drunkenness than pain at that point.  John was warm, pliant, and grinning when he practically flopped back onto the bed with a rather unmanly giggle and proceeded to burrow into the soft covers. Arthur couldn’t help but smile warmly as heard John’s soft snores begin almost immediately

Seeing the younger man smiling again had eased a tightness in Arthur’s chest that had been settled there for far too long.  No matter what happened, Arthur knew he wouldn’t regret his decision to bring John here. Seeing John happy again, even if only for a little while, was worth any amount of wrath Dutch decided to dish out when they returned to camp.    


While John slept, Arthur rang the bell for room service to have the dirty water drained from the tub and have it refilled for himself.  While Arthur usually wasn’t a fan of big cities like Saint Denis, he had to admit, it did have some perks. There weren’t many places out there like this, willing to accommodate clientele like him and John.  The girls didn’t even spare John a glance while they worked, and even wished him a pleasant afternoon as Arthur ushered them out with a few extra dollars once they were finished. Arthur was definitely going to have to find a way to thank Sadie for finding this place.    


Arthur took his time bathing himself, sipping at the remainder of the whiskey in the bottle.  He was feeling pleasantly buzzed and relaxed (and most importantly clean) when he finally got up, dried himself off, and threw on a clean pair of trousers.    


Unsure how long John was going to sleep, he picked up his journal before joining the younger man on the bed.  John woke up just long enough to shift to lay his head in Arthur’s lap with a sleepy mumble. Arthur chuckled softly and allowed his fingers to gently comb through the younger man’s dark hair.  It had dried wavy and almost fluffy thanks to the expensive soap that had been provided for them to use. He might have to see about getting some of it to take with them when they left. Because as much as he loved John, even unwashed and greasy, this was definitely a nice change.    


While John slept, Arthur took the time to update his journal.  Something he hadn’t done since before John had gone missing. A lot had happened.  A lot Arthur didn’t really want to think too much about, much less relive. But writing everything down usually helped ease his mind in the end, even if the actual process was a little painful sometimes.

John slept through most of the afternoon, unbothered by nightmares for a change, much to Arthur’s relief.  He didn’t even mind it when John began to drool on him, though he was definitely going to tease the younger man about it later.  For now Arthur just enjoyed the warm weight of John pressed against him, head resting low on his stomach, with his arm thrown comfortably across Arthur’s thighs.  He was in the middle of doodling the features of the Strange Man he’d met in the swamp who had led him to John, when the younger man began to stir again. Arthur quickly closed the book and set it aside before John could open his eyes.  Mostly because he didn’t want to explain… he wasn’t sure if he even could. 

“Hey, sweetheart.  Have a nice nap?” Arthur asked, resting his hand on the back of John’s head.  John hummed softly in his throat, and turned his face into Arthur’s belly. 

“Yeah…” he said softly, his voice a little scratchy with sleep, as his eyes finally fluttered open, “What time is it?”

“Probably close to dinner time, if you’re hungry,” Arthur replied as his fingers played idly with John’s hair.  The younger man hummed again thoughtfully, rubbing his cheek against Arthur’s bare stomach. The scratch of John’s stubble made his skin tingle pleasantly.    


“Maybe…” John whispered after a time, his hand beginning to rub up and down Arthur’s thigh rather suggestively.  A soft groan escaped Arthur before he could help it and he saw the grin John tried to hide when he pressed his lips to his abdomen.    


“Tell me what you want, darlin...” Arthur whispered, his voice dropping an octave deliberately, knowing the effect it had on the other man.  John shivered visibly before looking up at Arthur with dark eyes that were hungry all right, but not for food. 

“Want you,” He answered, pressing his lips to Arthur’s stomach with a pleased hum before beginning to trace over the firm muscles with his tongue.  Arthur’s cock twitched when John’s tongue dipped into his belly button, and low moan escaped his throat as the younger man worked his way down. When John’s teeth scraped lightly over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his trousers, Arthur’s breath hitched.  John grinned in satisfaction as he began to work open the buttons on his pants. 

“You sure you’re up for this?” Arthur asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the back of John’s head and tangling in the dark hair.  John practically purred as he pulled out Arthur’s cock and pressed a kiss to the sensitive head. Arthur’s breath hitched.

“You bet I am,” John replied, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes as his fingers gently closed around his shaft and began to stroke him to hardness.  John’s eyes lingered on his face until he managed to tease a drop of precum from the tip of his cock, and only then did the younger man break eye contact to gently lick it away.  Arthur groaned softly, his fingers tightening on the back of John’s neck. 

John’s lips closed around the head, sucking gently while his tongue traced every inch of him.  Licking underneath his foreskin and into his slit. Teasing the sensitive place just underneath the crown.  Arthur’s breathing grew heavier as John slowly took more of him into his mouth. His hand continuing to work at his base while his lips and tongue lapped up and down his shaft.    


As John’s mouth moved lower his hand shifted to hold Arthur’s hip instead.  His fingers digging into sensitive skin, holding Arthur in place, as the head of his cock hit the back of John’s throat.  Arthur’s head fell back and a deep groan rumbled out of his chest.

“Fuck… John…” he whispered, his thighs trembling with the effort not to fuck himself into John’s throat.  John pulled back slowly, his tongue pressing into the thick vein on the underside.  The wet sounds his mouth made around his cock were obscene in the relative silence.    


“Look at me, Arthur,” John pulled off long enough to whisper, and Arthur obeyed.  Lifting his head and opening his eyes to stare down at the younger man as John sank down on him again slowly.  Down. Down. Until John’s nose buried into the coarse hair at the base, his cock filling the younger man’s mouth and throat completely.  He felt John swallow around him, and Arthur nearly came right then and there. Probably would have if John didn’t suddenly pull off and wrap his fingers tightly around the base of his dick once more.    


“Christ!” Arthur cursed, panting and trembling.  His cock red and aching, covered in spit, begging for attention.  It twitched almost violently when John pressed his lips under the crown.  Arthur’s thigh muscles clenched in an effort to thrust up into the touch.  But John kept him effectively pinned to the bed with his own body weight. 

“Easy… just a bit more…” John soothed, before opening his mouth to take him in again.  Arthur groaned, biting his lip raw as the younger man proceeded to torture him in the best way.  Taking his cock as deep as possible, sucking wet and slow as he moved back up. Swirling his tongue around and teasing the tip.  Making a show of it as John watched him with dark eyes. Then repeating the process, over and over, without letting Arthur come. 

“John, please…” Arthur eventually hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the younger man’s hair in a way that had to hurt, but he couldn’t make himself stop.  John pulled off him one more time with a wet pop, and Arthur groaned. John looked up at him and licked his lips.

“Fuck my mouth, Arthur,” John ordered, shifting his hands to brace on either side of his hips.  With a groan, Arthur gripped the younger man’s head with both hands and pushed his cock between John’s lips the moment he opened his mouth again.  All thoughts of gentleness fled from his mind as he fucked up into his lover’s mouth in quick deep thrusts, filling John’s throat again and again. He knew he probably wasn’t giving the younger man much of a chance to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to help himself, and John sure as hell wasn’t complaining.  The younger man’s eyes fluttered, his lips red, saliva and precum dripping down his chin as he drooled and moaned around Arthur’s cock. 

“John… going to come…” Arthur at least had sense enough to warn his lover.  John merely groaned, swallowing greedily around his dick even before he began to spill his seed down the younger man’s throat.  John sucked him dry, his nose buried deep into his pubic hair as Arthur moaned like he’d been gutted. 

He finally managed to relax his hold on John, and the younger man pulled off him slowly.  Licking his swollen lips and grinning up at him like a cat who'd gotten cream. He kissed his way back up Arthur’s trembling stomach and up his chest until he reached his lips.  Arthur moaned as he tangled his fingers back into John’s hair, more gently this time, and he licked into the younger man’s mouth, tasting himself. 

“Thank you,” John whispered softly against his mouth, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you?” he asked.  John merely smiled and shook his head.

“Not for that… for… everything…” John replied, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder.  Arthur pressed his lips to John’s hairline just to hear the younger man hum in pleasure.    


“You don’t need to thank me…” Arthur protested, and John looked up at him.

“And you ain’t got nothing to make up for,” he replied.  Arthur started to open his mouth, but John pressed his fingers to his lips to silence him, “I mean it… This?  All this? It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t need it. I just need you. I love you.” 

Arthur swallowed down the lump of emotion in his throat and kissed John’s fingers before gently tugging them away.

“Alright… but how about some dinner?”    


“Fuck, yes.  I’m starving.”

 

* * *

The next morning they packed up to leave not without a small amount of regret. 

It was really too bad that after the job Dutch planned on pulling in Saint Denis they probably wouldn’t be able to come back for a while.  Maybe not ever. It made Arthur wish they could stay a couple more days, despite the sizable dent just one night had made in his personal funds.  But he knew they were pushing their luck too far already. He wasn’t really looking forward to facing Dutch when they returned to camp as is. 

So after a far more extravagant breakfast than they were used to, Arthur took the time to spread more of Hosea’s salve on John’s back in hopes it would make the ride back to Shady Belle a little easier on the younger man.  John seemed to be in a much better mood at least. He was definitely a bit steadier on his feet as Arthur helped him dress and led him downstairs. Though he still offered the younger man his support as they stood outside waiting for the boy to retrieve his horse from the stable.    


“Arthur?” 

He turned at the unexpected soft voice he honestly hadn’t expected to ever hear again.  Arthur felt John tense next to him and cursed inwardly. 

“Hello, Mary.  You’re looking well,” he greeted her pleasantly, nonetheless.  Despite how their last meeting had gone, he found he couldn’t harbor any ill feelings towards her.  He really had loved her, and though his heart now belonged to someone else, that didn’t change the fond memories he still carried.  He noticed her looking at John, or more likely, how close they were standing and the supporting arm Arthur had around the younger man’s waist, “You remember John Marston?”

There was a chance she didn’t.  She’d only seen John once or twice the handful of times Arthur had brought her around to the gang’s camp.    


“Of course.  Good to see you again, Mr. Marston,” she greeted, polite as always.    


“Mrs. Linton.  Sorry to hear about the passing of your husband,” he replied politely enough, though John remained tense beside him.  This was probably just as awkward for him as it was for Arthur. He squeezed John’s hip without thinking, surprising John, but probably more so Mary.  Her eyes went wide. Arthur cleared his throat.

“We were just heading out of town…” he explained.

“I was on my way to the train station myself,” Mary replied, her eyes moving between John and Arthur, and he could see the moment when she understood.  She blinked, then gave him a small, if sad, smile. Arthur really wasn’t sure what to say.

“Things… turn out all right with your father then?” 

“As well as can be expected.  We’ll get by. We always do. Thank you for asking,” she replied, sounding genuine at least.  Apparently there truly were no hard feelings that he’d refused to help her. She really was a good person.  Too good for him, that was for sure, “I… should probably get going. But it was good to see you again Arthur.”

“Yeah… take care, Mary,” he replied, feeling only a little pang in his chest that it would probably be for the last time.  She surprised him by looking to John next. 

“Mr. Marston… if it’s not too bold of me to ask… please look after this one for me?  He never did a very good of a job that himself…” 

John blinked in surprise.

“O-of course…” 

She smiled genuinely at both of them.

“Good day to you both,” she said, then looked to Arthur again, “I’m happy for you, Arthur.”

With that, she turned and continued down the street, most likely towards the train station.  By then the boy had returned with Arthur’s horse. 

“You okay,” John asked after a few moments of silence.  Arthur took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The smile he gave John was warm and genuine.

“Yeah…” he replied, “Let’s go home.”  


	10. Chapter 10

They made it back to Shady Belle a little after noon.  Despite how slow and careful Arthur had tried to take it, he knew the ride was still rough on John.  He could feel the younger man trembling slightly against his back, either from fatigue or pain. Though John hadn’t made a single complaint the entire ride back. 

Arthur gently squeezed one of the younger man’s hands that was wrapped around his waist.  Offering what comfort he could. He received a grateful squeeze back.

At least a few members of the gang were happy to see him and John back safe and sound.  Abigail greeted them at the gate and thanked him for bringing John back with tears in her eyes. Arthur felt a pang of guilt in his chest and knew he was going to have to apologize to her later.  Not only for ignoring her pleas to go looking for John for so long but… for everything. They hadn’t really had much time to talk since John had made his decision…

For now he reluctantly handed off the younger man into her care, knowing they had to keep up appearances, at least for now.  Though according to Sadie at least half the gang already knew about him and John, it was the other half he was worried about.  Abigail and Miss Grimshaw immediately led John away to his tent to rest. He probably would have followed if Hosea hadn’t stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and an apologetic look. 

“Dutch wanted to see you as soon as you got back,” he said, and Arthur sighed heavily. 

“Course he does.”

There was no point in arguing, so Arthur headed into the plantation house with only one final look cast back in the direction of the tents.  But to his disappointment John was already out of sight. It was probably for the best. Or he might have gone to make sure the younger man was settled and taken care of first, Dutch be damned.

He walked up the creaking stairs of the old house and made his way to Dutch’s room.  He didn’t bother knocking before entering, since he knew Dutch was waiting for him. Though the older man pretended not to notice him at first.  Casually reclining in an overstuffed chair, a book in one hand and a cigar in the other.  Molly was also there. Standing in the far corner of the room, fiddling with the little compact mirror she always seemed to carry, and dabbing at the makeup on her face.  Her gaze quickly swung to Arthur at his arrival.  Looking much like a startled deer. Her eyes rimmed red and puffy. But before he could do more than frown at her appearance, she quickly hurried out past him.  He didn't fail to notice he dark smudge on her cheek that the makeup didn’t completely hide.

“So,” Dutch’s voice cracked like a whip, drawing back Arthur’s attention, “Have a nice honeymoon did you?” 

The older man’s mocking tone made Arthur’s scowl deepen, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

“It wasn’t like that, and you damn well know it!” Arthur growled back.  He wasn’t going to mention that their last night in Saint Denis essentially _was_ just that… since that was none of Dutch’s business, “John was hurt!  He was _tortured_ and nearly _died_ for fucks sake!”

Dutch rolled his eyes at him.

“As far as I’m concerned, that boy got what he deserved,” Dutch stated, and Arthur felt himself flush hot with rage at those words.  Dutch either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, the dangerous ground he was walking on, “If he hadn’t abandoned his post to run after _you_ like a lovesick fool, none of this would have happened in the first place.”

“You heartless bastard!” Arthur snarled.  Dutch merely raised an eyebrow at his outburst.

“Heartless?  Try practical! I don’t give a damn where you stick your cock, but the _gang_ comes first. Always,” Dutch reminded him, “You should have been _here_ doing your job instead of sitting on your ass holding his hand like a mooning housewife.  Need I remind you we’re on a tight schedule? Or maybe you _want_ the O’Driscolls and Pinkertons to come back here and kill us all while you’re off getting your dick sucked!”

“Of course I don’t!” Arthur protested.  But even as part of him wanted to believe that Dutch was being completely unreasonable, it didn’t stop the feelings of shame the accusation caused.  That Dutch would even suggest… But it was true, wasn’t it? Arthur _had_ put John’s needs above the gang’s. 

“Then do as I say and stop meddling with my plans unless you want to get us all killed!” Dutch threw his book aside and stood, all but shouting into Arthur’s face.  He glared back at Dutch, his teeth clenched and his body shaking as he resisted the urge to take a swing at the older man. But as always, it was Arthur who backed down.  Breaking eye contact first to stare at the floor seething. He saw Dutch nod in satisfaction out of the corner of his eye.

“Get ready to leave.  We’ve got business tonight,” Dutch snapped, and pushed past Arthur, walking out of the room.  Arthur closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose in an effort to calm himself down.  Though it didn’t really help.

After a while, he walked outside and went looking for John.  Dutch’s order be damned. The younger man was in his tent, laying on his cot, on his front.  His shirt and the bandages on his back had been removed but his wounds looked tended to at least.  Judging by the slightly glazed look in John’s eyes, Swanson had also probably given him something for the pain. 

Abigail offered Arthur a tight smile where she knelt beside John's bed upon seeing him, “Hello, Arthur.” 

While Arthur was curious what the two had been talking about before he’d arrived, he knew it was none of his business.  He gave her a slight nod in greeting.

“Abigail, can I speak to John alone?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as angry as he felt.  Given the wary look she leveled on him it probably did.

“Of course,” she still agreed easily enough, sharing a look with John and giving his hand a slight squeeze before she rose and stepped out past him.  Even knowing he had no reason, or even right, to feel jealous, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t help the ugly emotion from twisting his insides.  John’s expression grew concerned.

“Are you all right, Arthur?” 

“Why did you abandon your post that night?” Arthur asked harshly.  John blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“You heard me!” he snapped back.  He knew he shouldn’t be taking his anger at Dutch out on John right now but… they hadn’t talked about this yet.  Mostly because Arthur had let his feelings get in the way. Unwilling to dig into the wounds of that night when he’d nearly lost John… but now he _needed_ to know.  It was the missing piece of the puzzle…

“Of course I heard you but…” John’s expression shifted between defensive and confused, “I _didn’t_ , Arthur.  I swear.  Near sundown Micah came to me.  Said Dutch wanted me to go looking for you, to bring you back to camp.  But on my way to Saint Denis, there was a body hanging by the road. I stopped to check it out… and got ambushed by those… people... ”

A cold feeling settled in Arthur’s gut.  Because obviously Dutch had done no such thing if he thought John had _abandoned_ his guard post. 

“Arthur?”

“Did he say anything else? Micah?” Arthur asked.  John shook his head.

“Dutch thinks you abandoned your post.  Micah sent you out there, not Dutch,” Arthur said quietly, suddenly wary of what ears might overhear their conversation.  John blinked in confusion.

“But… why?  Did he know… that would happen?” 

Arthur had no idea. Arthur couldn't say anyone in the camp actually _liked_ the blonde bastard, besides Dutch.  But being an asshole wasn't the same as... Maybe Micah hadn’t _planned_ for John to be kidnapped... maybe just wanted him to look bad… But it sure was one hell of a coincidence.  It had also been _Micah’s_  plan to parlay with Colm that had ended with Arthur being taken and tortured by the O’Driscolls not so long ago.  Micah had made little secret of his jealousy of Arthur's position in the gang.  Now this thing with John… Once was an happenstance, twice a coincidence, three times…

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted with a frown, “We’ve got no proof either way.  Only our word against his… and Dutch ain’t exactly been listening to what we have to say these days.” 

It was a difficult thing to admit.  Arthur sat down heavily next to John, suddenly feeling exhausted.  A hollow feeling replacing the rage boiling in his chest. There was a time when all Dutch had needed was their word... 

John reached out to take his hand and he gave the younger man’s fingers a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe we should talk to Hosea,” John suggested.  It was an option. But then again, Dutch hadn’t been listening to Hosea all that much lately either.  Would probably just accuse them all of trying to undermine him. Not having enough faith…

Arthur sighed heavily.

“Dutch wants to do a job tonight.  He’s still planning on hitting Bronte and the bank in Saint Denis… I’ve got a bad feeling about all this,” he admitted reluctantly. 

John was quiet for a long time before the younger man started to push himself up.  Arthur blinked in surprise before he reacted quickly to push John back down with a hand on his shoulder.  It was far too easy if John’s displeased glare was any indication.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Arthur demanded.

“What’s it look like?  I’m coming with you,” John replied stubbornly, trying to get up again, but Arthur’s hold remained firm. 

“Are you insane!” he hissed.  John merely growled back at him.

“You need someone to watch your back…” the younger man protested.  Arthur shook his head firmly.

“I can take care of myself.”

“God damn it, Arthur…”

“I don’t have the time to babysit you right now!  You can’t even stand straight without help. What do you think you can do?” Arthur snapped.  He knew that was the wrong thing to say, and he really didn’t want to fight with John right now.  Not after everything that happened. But he also didn’t want the stubborn ass to hurt himself!

“Fuck you!” John shouted, twisting out of his hold, and took a pretty decent swing at Arthur given his condition.  Arthur let it connect, just to let John get it out of his system, but caught the younger man’s wrist and pinned him down again a second later with his body weight.  John hissed sharply when his back connected against the cot, but that didn’t stop him from trying to thrash out of Arthur’s hold.

“John, stop!” Arthur growled, “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I don’t care!”

“I do!” he hissed, and John finally stilled.  Though if he stopped struggling because of Arthur’s words or because he was in too much pain to fight anymore, he couldn’t be sure.  John’s chest heaved and his face was twisted in a grimace. Arthur relaxed his hold and soothed the younger man with soft murmurs he might have used to calm a wild animal. 

He pressed his lips to John’s brow and felt the younger man relax minutely.

“I’m going with you…” John insisted stubbornly. 

“Not tonight,” Arthur replied just as firmly.  He felt John tense again, probably rearing for another fight, and was quick to offer a compromise, “If you’re doing better when we go after Bronte, I won’t say anything.  But tonight I need you here. It’s only going to be me and Dutch tonight anyway…”

Arthur could tell that John still wanted to argue, but finally the younger man let out a harsh breath and relaxed. 

“Fine.” 

Arthur slowly released him and sat up.  John’s face was pale and sweaty. That had obviously taken a lot out of him.  Arthur gently pushed his slick hair back from his forehead.

“There’s no one I’d rather have watching my back,” he admitted, and that seemed to pacify John.  Or maybe the younger man was simply too exhausted and in pain to snarl back at him like a wild coyote anymore. 

“Just… be careful…” John whispered.  Arthur pressed his lips to John’s mouth. 

“Always,” he promised.

 

* * *

 

Micah was doing up the buttons on his trousers after taking a piss against a tree.  A soft rustle in the underbrush was the only warning he got before rough hands suddenly grabbed him and slammed him up against that very same tree with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. 

He might have shouted if a knife wasn’t suddenly pressed so firmly against his throat that he could barely swallow without cutting himself on the blade.  But once he realized just who had attacked him, he managed to smirk.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, cowpoke?” he hissed, glaring defiantly into the enraged blue eyes of Arthur Morgan. 

“I’m giving you a friendly warning,” Arthur replied.  His voice deceptively calm as the knife dug a little more firmly into his skin.  A drop of blood rolled down Micah's throat where the sharp edge pierced his flesh. It wouldn’t take much for Arthur to bear down and slit open his throat entirely. 

“I’m listening.” 

“Good.  Cause I’m only going to say this once.  Stay away from John Marston and his family,” Arthur replied.  Micah scoffed.

“I don’t know what you’re…” he started to deny and grunted as the blade dug a little deeper. 

“Shut up.  I don’t want to hear it.  Just know, if anything happens to them and I even _think_ you’re involved?  I’ll cut out your goddamn heart and feed it to you.  I don’t need any damn proof. I don’t care what Dutch does to me afterwards.  You understand me?”

“Yeah… I get you…” 

Arthur kept him there pinned against the tree for several more heartbeats, just to drive his point home.  Before finally pulling away the knife and releasing Micah. Micah took a slow breath and reached up to rub his neck, then looked down at his fingers when they came away bloody.  The cut wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it would probably scar. A reminder.

Micah smirked at Arthur’s retreating back.

“Shoulda killed me when you had the chance, Morgan.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving kudos. If you didn't, please consider letting me know why, so I can improve my writing. Thank you :)


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